


Frostbite

by abcdefuk_off



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Protective Dean, Season 1, Teenchester, Weechester, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 106,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abcdefuk_off/pseuds/abcdefuk_off
Summary: Dean had failed to protect his kid brother once, and Sam had been left to live with the consequences, he wasn't about to do it again. Not ever.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 25
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just updated this fic on my ffnet page, and I went to do the same on here, before I realized that apparently I never even posted this fic on here! So here it is!

Dean noticed it immediately, probably before Sam even knew he was doing it.

The kid at his side was leaning back in his seat, staring out the passenger side window, with his shaggy brown hair covering his eyes; none of which was new. What caught the older man's immediate attention was not how Sam was sitting or where his gaze was being directed, but rather what he was doing with his hands. He was rubbing them together, as one would if they were applying lotion - and even though he was a total pansy, Sam wasn't much for hand cream; no hunter was, soft hands were irrelevant because callouses were inevitable and oily hands would make it difficult to properly grip a weapon.

Dean sent another side-long look in Sam's direction and the second he saw the young man's continued hand motions, he recalled instantly the purpose of the action and how many times he had witnessed it before.

Sam wasn't applying imaginary hand-lotion; he was trying to warm his damn hands!

The moment the realization hit him a familiar anger began to rise, seeping its way into his veins and coursing through his body. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, it being only appropriate way he could currently release some of the flowing fury.

Dean glanced once again over to his right and watched as Sam rubbed his hands more vigorously, unconsciously attempting to generate heat into the frozen limbs; the sight caused the elder Winchester's anger to flare and suddenly the death grip on the steering wheel wasn't enough and he began to clench his teeth as he was lured into recalling an unfavourable, but unforgettable memory.

_\--------------------------------------------------_

_It happened almost a decade ago, back when Sam was only fourteen years old._

_He was as scrawny as ever, the growth spurt he hit making him a little taller, but even thinner. No matter how hard Dean tried, he felt as though he could never get quite enough meat on the kid's bones, probably because he was such a lame eater._ _When your little brother preferred to spend all his time with his face in a book, getting him to eat any food at all was a chore. Dean found himself doing all he could just to maintain enough fat on the kid to keep his ribs from protruding too clearly through his skin._ _It didn't help that they never seemed to have enough money to buy anything that didn't originate from a can. Sam was also far too picky for his own good, not that Dean could blame the kid, he was certain that he would be perfectly happy to never again lay eyes on another can of spaghettios._

 _He was really hoping that Sam would remember to eat this week, as his older brother would not be there to force-feed him._ _He and Dad were heading out on a hunt, about three hours away from where Sam was going to be. John was originally going to bring the fourteen-year-old along, but there was no school around where the hunt was and Sam - as predictable as always - had insisted he be enrolled in school._

 _It was not the first-time Sam would be staying in a town on his own for a period of time, but that didn't make Dean any more comfortable with it._ He _was having to head to the hunt early, his Dad insisting that he hone in on his research skills and get a head start on the case while he stayed behind to get Sam enrolled in school – though deep down Dean knew that he was being sent away because he'd pissed his father off by arguing with him about not leaving Sam alone. He hated that John knew his week-spot, hated that he used it against him, hated that his dad understood that the best way to punish him was separating him from Sammy, and he hated that John used the time that his sons were apart to teach the youngest Winchester lessons that Dean couldn't protect him from._

 _He_ _**hated** _ _it._

 _But he couldn't do a fucking thing about it, because if he fought harder to keep it from happening, his punishment – his forced separation from his kid – would only be extended. Dean knew the best way to prevent it, the best way to keep Sam in his sights and always be there for him, was to try his hardest to keep the peace; even if it meant siding with John on occasions where he sure as shit didn't agree with the man; even when that meant Sammy would stare at him with those giant puppy-dog eyes full of betrayal, because in the end it was what kept Sam_ _**safe** _ _and that was all that mattered._

_It was all that had ever mattered._

_But it was too late to smooth things over now, his dad had already made his decision, and the man never wavered, so Dean had to be sent away – or 'ahead on a hunt' as his father put it._

_They found a hotel in the town within walking distance of the high school and checked in; after pulling all Sam's stuff out of the Impala and getting him situated in the room, Dean had run out of excuses to hang around. He managed to get his little brother to pull his nose out of a book long enough to say goodbye._

_"Sammy, don't forget to eat some food while I'm gone, if you get any skinnier people are going to be able to see right through you."_

_"Don't worry, Dean, you eat enough for the both of us." Sam replied, the smile on his face displaying the dimples that always made him look years younger than he was._

_"Nice one, Bitch. Now, don't stay up reading all night and make sure you get your ass to school on time, and remember, anything you need just…"_

_"Give you a call, yeah, I know. We've been through this before. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it, Jerk." Sam finished, walking up to Dean and nudging him playfully with his arm. He was trying to cheer him up – Dean could sense that much, because even though Sam was just a kid, on some level Dean knew that he understood what was really going on – that Dean wasn't being sent ahead to start the hunt out of necessity, but rather he was being sent away because he had dared to go toe-to-toe with John Winchester. John thought Sam believed his excuses for sending Dean off, but he didn't understand how irritatingly intuitive the young boy was, the kid always knew way more than he was supposed to._

_Years ago this would be the moment where Dean found himself with an armful of little brother._ _Sammy used to always wrap his little arms around the older boy before he went anywhere, even if it was just to school; but things were changing, he was getting older and while he was still very much the baby of the family, he was no longer the clingy little bugger that he used to be._ _If he were being entirely honest, Dean would admit that he sort of missed the hugs he used to receive on an almost regular basis from the kid, but he would never confess such an outrageously girlie thought aloud._

_"Alright, see you around, Sammy." he said as he messed up the young teen's mop of already unruly hair._

_"It's Sam." The younger Winchester mumbled, stepping from his reach and attempting to fix the mess that had been made of his head, but as the taller boy headed to the door, Sam called out._

_"Dean."_

_At the sound of his name he turned around, never able to help the instinctual response he always had to the little squirt, and waited patiently for Sammy to gather his words._

_"Just, uhh, be safe. Alright? And don't forget to call if you're going to be longer than a week. Okay?" He requested quietly, allowing his bangs to fully cover his eyes._

_"Yeah kiddo, you know I will." Dean replied, tone soft and reassuring, maintaining a smile on his face until the younger boy finally looked up to see it._

_When he was moderately sure that he had done as much as he could to ease his little brother's fears, he exited the room, trying hard to mentally reassure himself that Sam would be alright on his own._ _Stepping outside he saw his dad transferring the laptop from his truck into the Impala, so that he could use it to do research once he arrived at the next town. Without even looking in his direction his father began to recite the list of orders for him to follow._

_"You better get going, I want you there before dark to check out the scene and then you should have time to talk to some of the witnesses before getting a room and starting on the research. No cutting corners on the research, Dean, it has been mediocre at best. That's another reason I wanted Sam here, you won't be able to get him to do all your work this time. I should be in town by the time you're finished your training tomorrow morning and I want you to be able to give me the full run-down. Got it?"_

" _Yup." Dean confirmed, straightening out the different weapons his dad had simply tossed into the back of his baby._

" _Pardon?" John asked, with an edge to his voice._

" _Yes sir." He corrected himself, firmly closing the trunk of the Impala._

_John nodded his approval as he turned to head into the motel, only stopping to look back at Dean when he called his name._

" _Dad?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _You're going to enroll Sam in school this afternoon, right?" At John's nod, Dean continued, "And make sure you get him enough groceries for the week? He really needs some fat on those bone-"_

" _He doesn't need fat. That boy needs some muscle." John corrected._

"W _ell, either way he is going to need at least a week's worth of food, and something more than soup." Dean declared, speeding up his speech once he noticed his father was about to protest, no doubt in an attempt to point out the nutritional value of soup and the fact that he is not 'made of money'._ " _And Dad, you have to get him a new coat and gloves."_

_This was something that had been nagging at Dean since they entered Michigan, it was January, no snow, but very cold. Almost the moment they had entered the state they had dug out the winter gear, Dean's and John's jackets being thick enough for the cold, but Sam's was light, hardly warm enough to be considered a fall jacket, let alone winter. Due to the kid's recent growth spurt, his winter jacket from the previous year was far too short and his gloves much too small._

" _The jacket he has is pathetic. He was shivering all the way here." Dean explained._

" _Well I don't know how; cause don't think I didn't notice that you had Sam dressed in almost every piece of clothing he owns. I could see from the rear-view mirror of my truck that you had the kid in at least four different layers."_

" _That's cause it's friggin cold and he doesn't have a proper jacket. Seriously Dad, you need to get him a decent winter coat. I'm not here to drive him to and from school and he's got at least a twenty minute walk both ways, that plus all the training you want him to do, he is going to be out in the cold weather an awful lot and he needs a warm coat and gloves." Dean insisted, trying his best to tread carefully in the already aggravated waters, but unable to leave such significant matters undiscussed._

" _Dean, Sam will be fine. Stop worrying." John assured nonchalantly, with a shrug of his shoulders._

" _I have to worry about this, because I don't want Sammy to freeze to death and I know that he won't tell you what he needs and you won't remember, so I have to remind you. Now, just promise me that you'll get him a thick coat and some warm gloves." Dean rushed, almost getting it all out in one breath, nervous of being further disciplined for stepping out of line._

_There was a pause of tense silence during which the teen had to force himself to maintain eye-contact with his father, denying his desire to look away. He held his stance, re-affirming the fact that he was not backing down, that he was confident in his requests, and this was a matter on which he was very willing to argue, if need be._

_John was staring at him accusingly, but Dean remained steady, his face calm, just waiting for the condemnation he was sure to receive. Finally, his father took a deep breath, letting it out with a put-upon sigh._

" _Alright Dean, though I don't see why you think you need to tell me what my own child needs, I will make sure to get Sam a better coat."_

" _And gloves?"_

_Dean knew that he was pushing it, but this was not an issue on which he was willing to compromise, even if it meant attracting the wrath of the great John Winchester, or rather, more of his wrath._

His _father's eyebrows rose practically into his hair line as he sucked in another deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it harshly; this sort of breathing had generally been a technique the hunter used to calm himself, often making an appearance whenever he was having a discussion with Sam._

" _And gloves." John relented, in a tone declaring that he was not at all content about the conversation that was taking place._

_Nodding his head, pretending that he hadn't been holding his breath over his dad's possible reaction, Dean opened the car door and slid behind the wheel._

_By the time he looked back up through the windshield, after starting the engine, he saw his father's back as the older man entered the motel room; and just as he began to pull out of the parking spot he spotted Sammy's face at the window as the young teen peaked around the curtain._ _The brothers_ _made eye-contact immediately, Dean tried not to grimace at the sight of such intense fear and worry residing in his little brother's eyes, a look he had seen almost every time he left Sam behind._ _He threw a confident smile the kid's way, hoping that it would accurately disguise his current distress as well as ease his baby brother's worry. Sam gave him a small smirk, but that veil of fright and concern never lifted from his eyes. Dean kept the content look on his face until he had pulled out of the motel parking lot and was directed toward the highway, then, and only then, did he allow the mask to slide off and reveal the uncertainty lying beneath._

_Dean had done everything his dad asked and was on his last lap around the motel by the time his father arrived in town the next morning._

" _Did you get him a coat and mitts?" Was the first thing that came out of his mouth the moment he saw John emerge from his pick-up truck. His dad gave him an exasperated look as he reached back in the cab to pull out his duffel._

" _Sam is fine, Dean." He declared as he waited for Dean to direct them towards the room._

" _So you got him-"_

" _He has everything he needs." His father interrupted. "Sam will be fine. You need to learn to focus less on your brother and more on the job."_

" _I know, you say that all the time." Dean mumbled, leading the way to the room he had checked into the previous night._

" _I tell you it all the time, because you can't seem to get it through your thick head. Now enough about your brother, I need you to give me the rundown on this case." His father grouched as he pushed past the teenager and into the room._

_Dean closed the door quickly behind him as he entered, trying to keep the cold air outside and being reminded again how chilly it was and how Sam better have gotten a new jacket. He decided to not push the matter though, because the last thing he wanted was to be separated from his little brother again, or for longer. Besides, John was right, Dean needed to focus on the job, the better he did the job, the better he could protect Sammy and the sooner he could get back to him; so he let the matter drop, simply trusting that his father knew how to take care of his kids. In an attempt to let go of the constant nagging concern, the teen began filling the older hunter in on everything he had managed to find out about the hunt._

_A week later they had made a whole lot of headway on the case and were hoping to be able to wrap it up in the next couple of days. Dean had called Sam yesterday to tell him know they were going to be a little longer._ _The kid had sounded off, Dean still couldn't put his finger on why, but the conversation had left him extremely unsettled and he had yet to shake it. Even now as he was tracking in the woods with his dad, he couldn't get his mind off Sam and was constantly thinking about all the different things that could be the matter._

_Bullies being his go-to assumption._

_Sam had always been far too small for his age, that and being the new kid, consistently made his baby brother the number one target for anyone bigger and meaner than him, which - these days - consisted of just about everybody. The only reason Dean had ever regretted dropping out of high school was that he wouldn't be there to defend the kid, keep him from being shoved into walls and attacked with both words and fists._

_Dean had given his brother the third degree, practically interrogating him over the phone, but the little shit hadn't budged, insisting that he was "fine" and begging Dean to stop pestering him already._

" _Dean. Focus!"_

_The teen was pulled from his thoughts by his father's harsh demand, realizing he had stopped moving and was now much further behind his dad than he had been when they started out. He quickened his steps, avoiding the older man's scolding gaze as he approached._

_Then his phone went off._

_Dean knew better than to ever have it on a ringer setting, but the vibrating was not completely silent either. He heard and felt it immediately, unfortunately John did as well, whether due to his keen sense of hearing or the noise was actually that loud - Dean wasn't sure. He felt his father's eyes burning into his skull as he dug out his phone, flipping it open the moment he glimpsed at the caller I.D._

" _Sammy?" His voice was drenched in concern, he knew something was wrong. He had just called Sam yesterday with a promise that he would call again soon, so there was no way the kid would call him first unless something was wrong, seriously wrong._

_Dean waited a second, only hearing stuttered breathing on the other end of the line, which seemed to validate his concern almost immediately._

" _Sammy? What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, almost aggressively, demanding to know what had hurt his little brother and already thinking of ways to make it pay, whoever or whatever it was._

" _Dean."_

 _It wasn't a question or a statement, it was more like a plea that came out sounding suspiciously like a sob; and that was all it took for Dean to turn on his heels and start booking his way back in the direction he had come, back to the Impala._ _The moment he turned he heard his father's voice, questioning his actions, but he drowned it out, focusing solely on interpreting the unsteady breathing coming from his cell._

" _Yeah kiddo, I'm right here. Now I need you to tell me what's wrong, can you do that?" He was treating Sam like a child, he knew that, and the fact that the stubborn little brat didn't jump on him for it told Dean exactly how distressed Sam really was._

" _Dean."_

_That was definitely a sob, the teen sped up, jogging now, not knowing if his father was following behind him and not taking the time to find out._

" _It's me, Sammy, I'm right here and I'm going to fix everything, but first I need you to tell me what happened. I need you to do that for me little bro, okay? Will you do that for me, kiddo? Please?"_

_Dean was almost begging now, knowing that orders and demands never worked with Sam, something his dad hadn't quite figured out. He also knew that his little brother was a sucker for helping others, therefore if Dean made it so that answering his question would be helping him, he knew that Sam would do it. He didn't like taking advantage of Sam's weakness for helping people, himself in particular, and it was something he very rarely did, but it was what he would have to do to get the kid to talk._

" _My hands, Dean." Sam whispered. Dean could tell by the quiver in the younger boy's voice that he was trying not to cry, but he could almost see the tears running down that round face as Sam bit his lower lip, something he always did to try and stop from breaking down._

" _Your hands? What about your hands, Sammy?" He questioned, his voice level, as he worked to figure out exactly what could be wrong._

" _They're re-really cold, Dean."_

_The older boy couldn't help but realize that Sam was saying his name every time he spoke and that every time it came out like a desperate plea meant to break his big brother's heart in half._

" _Cold? Warm them up then." He didn't understand what the issue was._

" _I ca-can't, Dean."_

" _Run them under some warm water."_

" _I di-did, it hurt wo-worse, it burned and n-now…" Sam faded out, as though someone used a remote to turn the volume down as he spoke._

" _What about now? What's happening now, buddy?" Dean asked._

" _My…my hands are …the-they're changing col-colour." Sam choked out._

" _Colours? What do you mean? What colours?" He queried in confusion._

" _They're…they're turning bla-black, De."_

_There it was._

_Dean knew it was coming if he didn't diffuse the situation._

_The child in Sam always came out when he was scared or hurt and 'De' was what he had called his big brother almost until he turned eight – when it eventually dissipated, but it was name that returned when his brother was feeling vulnerable; and whenever he said it that way, like it was the only thing he was holding on to, it tore Dean to pieces._

" _Hey Sammy, it's going to be alright, you're going to be fine. I need you tell me why your hands are black, are they bruised? Did someone hurt them?" He could see the Impala, his baby sitting there beautifully under the night sky, waiting patiently for him to come back to her and, damn, did he need her more than ever right now._

" _No, they're co-cold, De. Really, really cold an-and they hurt. They hurt s-so bad."_

_Dean felt his eyes welling up and quickly wiped at the moisture, there was no time for his tears, he needed to focus on Sam._

" _Alright buddy, it's alright, just try to keep them as warm as you can. I'm on my way, alright?" He reassured as he ripped the door open, knowing his baby would understand the harsh treatment, because it was for Sammy._

" _NO! Don't hang up! Don't leave me, Dean!"_

_The young adult was shocked by the volume of his brother's voice. He had struggled to hear what the kid was saying the entire conversation, every word practically a whisper the whole time, that the sudden volume change had Dean startled. Not to mention the shock at what his brother had said, so desperate for him to stay on the phone, he had allowed himself to actually believe that the older boy would just hang up on him._

" _Hey Sam, Sammy! I'm not going anywhere alright?! I'm on my way to you right now, we'll talk until I get there, okay?" He said, calming his little brother, pulling him back from panic._

" _Okay Dean." Sam replied, returning to his hushed tone._

_As Dean started the car he heard the passenger door open and felt the car dip as his dad dropped down into the seat, roughly slamming the door closed and giving his eldest child a hard look, a look which Dean did not bother to return or acknowledge. He also did not answer his father's demanding questions, understanding the man's frustration, but not having time to pay heed to his orders._

" _Where are you, Sam? Are you in the room?" Dean questioned, needing to keep his little brother calm as well as struggling to understand the situation._

" _Yes" Came the quiet reply, followed by a hitched inhale._

" _Okay, good boy, Sam. Now can you tell me if anything else is wrong? Does anything else hurt?"_

" _I'm j-just cold." He stuttered._

" _Just your hands?"_

" _No…every-everywhere is cold, De"_

_At the younger boy's response, the teen gripped the wheel tighter, feeling his muscles tense with fear._

" _Did you try having a warm shower?" He inquired lamely._

" _I tried… I couldn't…it hur-hurt my hands. I…I couldn't t-turn the nob."_

_It was then that Dean noticed Sam's voice was always slightly muffled, he thought it had just been because he was trying not to cry, but he realized it was also because Sam had the phone sandwiched between his shoulder and his ear and he was stuttering._

_The kid couldn't even hold the phone._

_Sam's hands were so cold that he couldn't get them to work enough to hold the phone or turn the tap and if Dean hadn't been number one on speed-dial he doubted his brother would have been able to call him at all._

_This wasn't good, cold, painful, black hands meant frostbite and if more than just his hands were cold, that could mean there was frostbite somewhere else on his body, all that plus the chattering of teeth he could hear on the other side, it could mean hypothermia, it could mean death. he shuddered and pushed his baby to speed up._

" _Okay Sammy, I understand, but I need you to get warm." The moment he said that he could sense the man on his right stiffen and the guilt that began to flow off him was almost tangible. Dean's suspicions were confirmed, and the anger began to overwhelm the fear that had taken up residence in his gut._

" _I'm tr-trying De. I'm under all the blank-blankets…but I'm still c-cold." Sam stammered that as though he had let his brother down, as though he felt like a failure for being unable to gain control of his body temperature, and that only fuelled the fire that was rising through the older teen's body._

_"And I-I tried to do… to do the training Dad want- wanted me to, I did Dean, I tr-tried really hard, but I j-just got s-so col and it hurt… and…"_

" _Stop it, Sam!" Dean commanded. "Don't worry about it. You did great, you're doing great and none of this is your fault! Okay, little brother? You go that?"_

" _O-Okay Dean."_

_He could tell that Sam was just being compliant, he wasn't truly convinced that what he said was true, but he would settle for compliancy right now. Once Sam was safe, Dean would make certain he understood that none of this was his fault, but right now he just needed him to be okay._

_Dean heard a gasp from the other end._

" _What Sam, what is it?" He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice and apparently his father sensed it because he could feel his hand on the phone, trying to pull it from his ear, no doubt getting impatient to find out exactly what was going on. Dean turned his eyes from the road long enough to send a menacing glare to the man next to him and hunched his body further to the left, making it clear that he was not getting the phone._

" _Dean…I thi-think the phone is dy-dying." Sam said, a twinge of desperation in the statement._

" _Don't you have the charger?" Dean asked._

" _Ya-yes… but I can't plu-plug the phone in, my…my hands, they-I…" Sam was stuttering trying to find a way to explain that his hands wouldn't cooperate long enough for him to be able to plug in his cell phone…the entire situation was beyond wrong._

_His baby brother should never be in that kind of pain, he should never be so physically damaged that he couldn't adjust a shower nob or charge a phone._

_Dean had failed._

_He knew that._

_He was supposed to protect Sam, keep him safe; but here he was, not with him and soon not even able to talk to him, leaving him alone, injured and vulnerable._

_The older boy wanted to be sick._

_"Dean, it…it's dying, th-the battery is re-really low, it's going to shu-shut off s-soon." His brother stated, dread coding each word._

" _Sammy, it's fine, okay? What about the motel phone? Can you call me on that?" He asked, searching for a solution, knowing he was still two hours away as he pushed the gas pedal even closer to the floor in a hopeless attempt to defy the laws of time._

" _I tri-tried De, I can't…can't dial, the b- buttons are s-small and I ca-can't hold it a-and…"_

" _That's okay Sam, it's alright, it isn't your fault okay?"_

" _M'kay Dean" Sam muttered, he could almost see him biting his lip, trying to stop it from quivering as moisture filled up his eyes._

_That image - though imagined - tore at his very soul and had him cursing the distance between them._

" _We will just keep talking until your phone dies, and when it does, Sam, don't worry about it, because I am on my way. When it happens, I want you to just keep cuddled up in the blankets and do anything else you can think of to keep warm and keep your hands warm. You are going to be okay and I am going to be there soon. Okay, buddy?" He explained as calmly as he could manage._

" _O-Okay D-Dean, just hurry, al-alright?" Sam sounded so much younger than fourteen, and Dean was forced to blink the moisture from his eyes, causing a single tear to run unobstructed down his face._

" _Ya buddy, I'm going as fast as I can." The teen replied quietly, keeping the agony he was feeling out of his tone._

_There was silence for a little while, during which Dean had horror scenes playing in his head, all the different ways this could end up bad for his kid brother were assaulting his mind._

" _Dean?" Sam whispered quietly._

" _What is it, Sammy?" He responded, willing to do anything to help the kid._

" _What if I can't-"_

_The sound of a dial tone interrupted his baby brother's question and Dean was left listening to that incessant beeping until he finally released his death grip on the phone, dropping it into his pocket and placing both hands on the steering wheel. There was silence, he could feel his dad's eyes on him, and he knew that the older man would have to be blind not to see the complete fury written all over his body._

" _Dean –"_

" _Don't, Dad, just don't. There is absolutely nothing you could say that would excuse what you've done." He bit out, trying to maintain some sort of calm in his reaction._

" _What I've done? I haven't done anything!" He defended._

" _Exactly, you didn't do anything! I practically begged you to buy that kid a bloody winter coat and you didn't even do that." Dean lost his battle at calm about halfway through his response, the picture of his shivering cold hurting baby brother stealing his composure._

" _I didn't have time to go clothes shopping, Dean, but I left Sam some money and told him to get his own coat."_

" _What about gloves, did you leave him money for that?"_

" _I left him enough."_

" _How much?" He knew he was making his dad angry, though he hadn't looked over at him once, he could tell by the way his father's answers were getting louder the longer this conversation went on._ _There was silence, silence that told him everything he needed to know, but he still wanted to hear the confirmation come right from John's mouth._

"Twenty _bucks." It was said assertively, as though John genuinely believed that he hadn't screwed up._

" _Twenty bucks! You can't get a winter coat for twenty dollars! And you sure as hell can't get a coat and gloves with that." Dean declared, trying get through the older man's thick head._

" _Well he will have to make it work. I'm not made of money."_

_And there it was, the go-to defense John used every single time they went without basic necessities._

" _You keep saying that, but if you had enough to go for a few beers last night then you sure as hell should have had enough to buy your own kid a fucking coat!" Dean seethed, no longer pulling any punches, astounded that this man could make up excuses for letting his youngest son down in such a crucial way._

" _I didn't see you bitching when you were drinking those beers last night, Dean. And Sam needs to learn how to make do, you can't be spoon feeding him all the time."_

" _How is he supposed to make do? This isn't a luxury he can just go without; it's clothing he needs to stay warm so he doesn't freeze to death. What kind of solution do you expect him to come up with when you don't leave him enough money to get the things he_ **needs** _!?" Dean hollered, turning for the first time to glare incredulously at his father._

" _He finds what he can with the money I gave him."_

" _He can't find a coat that is going to keep him warm for twenty dollars! There was no thrift shop in that godforsaken town, where is he supposed to find a winter jacket for that pathetic amount of cash?" He asked in disbelief._

" _Well if he doesn't have enough he will have to make some of his own money. I can't always be around to provide the kid's every need. You've found work to make extra money."_

 _Dean knew what his dad was referring to, the last few years whenever they were staying in the same location for more than a couple weeks Dean would find some odd work, just small temporary jobs that provided some extra cash._ _Some extra cash he would use to send Sammy on the field trip to the museum with the rest of his class, or to make sure that they got to eat more than toast and beans while dad was away for weeks at a time. He did it because he had to, because he was tired of never having enough, he was tired of watching his baby brother go without, but his dad failed to see the difference in Dean's and Sam's situations._

" _I'm older, Dad! I didn't start getting real jobs until I turned sixteen! No one is going to hire a little fourteen-year-old kid who's still in school. Besides, gawd knows the kid wouldn't be able to make time for a job between school and all the training you have him doing!" Dean's exasperation level had hit a maximum._

_He knew his father could be unreasonable, hard-headed, and unwilling to negotiate, but his blatant refusal to accept any responsibility at all had his eldest son completely baffled._

_Dean was met with silence, he knew that meant next to nothing, it didn't mean he had won and it didn't mean his father had seen the light, it just meant that John could no longer maintain the level of cool he had so far been able to handle and was now calming himself down, which he could tell by the hunter's breathing pattern. Dean let it die, knowing that no progress was being made and that the next time that man opened his mouth the teen would be forced to throttle him._

_The rest of the drive was made in tense silence, both of men glaring out the front windshield. By the time they made it to town the gas pedal was practically at the floor and Dean's baby was being pushed to go faster than he ever thought she could._

_They pulled to a stop in front of the Sam's motel and Dean dived out of the car, almost losing his footing on his sprint to the room door._

" _Sam!" He called, knocking firmly on the wooden door, hard enough to get his attention but not to scare him; that idea was thrown out the window the next second when John started pounding on the door, hard enough to splinter it. The teen jumped, startled by the force of his dad's knocking, recovering quickly and putting a hand out to stop the older man._

" _Dad, cut it out, that's not helping and all you're going to do is draw attention." He said, looking around to make sure none of the other room doors had opened._

" _Sam, open up!" John bellowed, shrugging his son off and pounding on the door again. Dean went to try the doorknob, knowing it would probably be locked but hoping it wasn't, considering that making a scene would be unavoidable if he was forced to break the door down. To his surprise the door was unlocked and he pushed it open, shocking his dad who was about to start in on another round of merciless pounding._

 _He pulled out his gun instead, an action which Dean copied, as they slowly entered the room, scanning it for danger. He realized the beds were empty, which put him on high alert because that had been exactly where he expected to spot his little brother. He did notice, however, that both beds were missing blankets. Dean proceeded to rake over the room with his eyes until he spotted a bundle of blankets on the kitchen floor, he was moving across the room before his mind had even registered exactly what he was seeing._ _Once he reached the tiny nook known as a motel kitchen, he noticed the shaggy brown hair that was peeking out of the lump of blankets piled on the floor in front of the oven door. Dean dropped to his knees immediately, lifting off layer after layer until he uncovered the thin, lanky body that had been hiding underneath._

_He wanted desperately to just take that small kid in his arms and make him all better._

_But he knew better._

_He had been trained better._

_Dean knew before finding a solution he must assess the problem, which meant giving Sam a thorough once over before lifting him into his arms and blowing this popsicle stand._

" _Sammy." He called quietly, but louder than a whisper, he felt his father at his back and silently begged him to not do anything to startle the little boy curled up on the floor. Thankfully the older man seemed to be content with taking Dean's lead for the moment, as he squatted down and gently placed his large hand on top of his youngest son's head._

_"Sam." The teen tried again, a little louder this time._

_He watched as the shaggy head turned towards the direction of his voice and he brushed those too-long bangs out of the young face to see two hazel eyes staring up at him._

_"There you are little brother. How you doing, buddy?" He asked, running his thumb across Sam's cold cheekbones, itching to get a look at his hands, but still waiting for a verbal reaction from the young boy._

" _De?" It came out quieter than a whisper, with a gravely edge to it, a weaker tone than had been heard on the phone hours earlier,_

" _The one and only, kiddo. Now, you going to let me take a look atchya or you going to lay on this hard floor all night?" Dean queried, the light air in his voice contradicting the heavy weight of the present situation._

" _M'hands, De." Sam gasped, eyes going wide as he tensed up._

" _I know, kiddo. You going to let him take a look at them?" Dean asked, one hand cupping his little brother's face as he ran the other one down Sam's shoulders, feeling the frigid skin through his brother's sweater. Once he got to the young boy's elbow, Sam tensed up even tighter, pulling his hands impossibly closer to his chest._

" _Sam, show us your hands now, son."_

 _The youngest Winchester flinched at the command, whether due to the volume of it, or that the boy hadn't known their father was in the room to give it._ _Sam gave no response to the demand other than the flinch, which Dean found some degree in relief in, because there was nothing more normal than Sam completely disregarding a John Winchester order._

_The older teen smirked and leaned in even closer to his little brother, stopping about an inch from his face and began to speak quietly to the injured boy._

" _Sammy, I'm going to fix it okay? But I need to see what it is that I need to fix, so can you please show me your hands?" He waited a minute, not getting any movement from his baby brother, prompting Dean to once more appeal to the kid's weakness of helping others._ _"Sammy, I need you to trust me? Do you trust me, kiddo?"_

_It took less than a second for Dean to receive the small nod he knew was going to arrive._

_"And you know that I would never do anything to hurt you?"_

_Again, there was a nod._

_"Good, now I need you to show me your hands, please Sammy."_

_And then came the final words he knew would seal the deal._

_"For me, buddy?"_

_Dean didn't have to wait long until Sam slowly allowed his arms to begin to fall away from his chest, unresisting when he gently gripped the slim forearms, bringing them out into view._

_"That's it, little man. You're doing great."_

_Dean continued his mantra of quiet encouragement as he guided Sam's arms into his lap. The small hands were covered in dish cloths that Dean slowly began to unwind on the right hand. His brother unleashed a whimper, after which his father began to gently card his fingers through his young son's hair, trying to calm the kid. Dean looked up from what he was doing briefly to observe the scene playing out in front of him, impressed with his dad's attempt at comforting and wondering if he would ever witness that side of the gruff hunter again._

_Dean almost bit through his lip trying to prevent form unleashing the gasp that was caught in his throat the moment he could finally see his little brother's hand._ _It was discoloured, completely grey except for the tips of his fingers and edges of his palm where green and black spots were covering Sam's skin. Dean gently placed the tips of his fingers on the palm, it was cold to the touch, like the rest of the kid, but it was also dry and cracking, even bleeding in some spots._

" _Fuck!"_

_Dean looked up hearing his dad curse under his breath. He was holding Sam's other damaged hand gently in his big palm, examining it closely as he slowly turned it over, eliciting a small cry from the young teen. John met his eyes, and for one brief extremely rare moment, Dean witnessed the sheer terror and guilt reigning in his look._

_"Sam, do you hurt anywhere else?"_

" _No." His brother responded, so quietly John was unable to hear it, he looked at Dean for an answer and he shook his head to indicate what Sam had said._

" _Good, that's good." Their father responded with a solemn nod of his head._

" _But…" Sam began, going quiet before he completed his thought._

" _What? Kiddo, what is it?" Dean inquired, bringing Sam's chin up so he could see his eyes, careful not to disturb the discoloured appendage resting in his lap._

" _I'm really cold." Sam whispered, his eyes gathering moisture as he looked at his big brother pleadingly. Dean was about to reassure him, saying that he would be alright and they would have him warmed up in no time, but their father spoke before he had the chance._

" _How cold, son?" He asked._

_Sam squinted at the question, looking unsure what he was meant to say._

_"Sam, how cold are you?" Dad repeated, a little rougher this time._

" _Really, really cold." He whispered, his gaze remaining on his face as their father shifted around resting a hand on Sam's forehead for a moment before moving it under the teen's layers of clothing to place it on his stomach._

" _He's not shivering" John mumbled, moving his hand further under the kid's shirt, up to his ribs._

" _What?" Dean asked in complete confusion, but not breaking eye contact with Sam, refusing to deny him the only comfort he was able to provide at the time._

" _He's freezing. His skin is frigid, but he's not shivering. He should be shivering. When he was on the phone with you, was he shivering?"_

" _Umm, ya, I think so. He kept stuttering and his breathing was really broken up." Dean explained, racking his brain to recall whether that could have been from Sam crying or being cold._ _"If he's not shivering anymore doesn't that mean…" Dean trialed off, refusing to say the word as not to scare Sam, but knowing his father knew what he was getting at._

_Shivering was the body's way of trying to warm itself up, so if someone is cold enough to need warming up, but not shivering, that wasn't good. Sam was becoming hypothermic, if he wasn't there already._

_Without a second thought, or even a glance in his dad's direction, Dean rolled his brother onto his back and began wrapping him back up in the blankets he had previously been buried in. He secured Sam's hands gently against his chest, unable to block out the soft cries that escaped from the boy's throat as he did so, and then he lifted him into his arms, pulling him close to his chest and heading for the door._

_The moment he stepped out into the chilly night air Sam flinched violently in his arms, releasing a sob, causing Dean to pull him closer to his body. Their dad was at the Impala seconds after, pulling open the passenger door before running over to get into the driver's seat. Dean slid into the car, careful not jostle Sam too much and before he could even close the car door, John was ripping out of the parking lot. The sounds the tires made was not pretty, but he found himself completely unconcerned, don't get him wrong the Impala is his baby, but Sammy came first, before anything or anyone._

_As their father drove frantically back towards the highway, knowing that the nearest hospital was almost two towns over, Dean did as much as he could for Sam._ _He took off his jacket, draping it over the skinny legs, then he pulled open his flannel button up and tugged his t-shirt up, tucking it under his chin, leaving his chest completely bare. He did the same with Sam's back, pulling his layers up as far as he could without having to remove them. When he could get as much of Sam's back uncovered as possible, Dean quickly pulled the slim frame against his chest, skin to skin. The touch was frigid, the kid's cold invading his warmth and he prayed that his heat would invade Sam's cold in the same way, and then he wrapped the blankets around them, trapping the warmth underneath. He knew body heat was more effective when you were chest to chest, but he did not want to cause Sam's fragile hands anymore pain, so this would have to work until they arrived at the hospital._

_By the time the Impala's tires came to an abrupt screeching stop in front of the hospital doors, Dean was shivering and Sam was barely coherent. John raced around the car, opening the door and moving to pull Sammy from his arms, but Dean wouldn't allow it. He ignored the reach, lifted his brother out of the car as gently as possible, and raced through the hospital doors._

_Everything was a blur after that, Dean remembered very little. He did recall hearing his dad demand help, and then people were pulling the frozen boy from the teen's arms. He only allowed himself to let go when his father told him that he couldn't do any more to help Sammy and that he needed to let the doctors handle it._

_Dean remembered his dad having to hold him back when Sammy was wheeled away on a stretcher, and then there was waiting. It felt like it went on for years, he couldn't recall exactly how long he paced in that overcrowded waiting room until someone finally called out "Family of Samuel Thompson."_

_Dean didn't blink at the new last name, was used to having a different one every time one of them had to make a hospital visit, an occurrence which was becoming more common then he cared to admit._

" _Are you Samuel's guardian?" The doctor asked Dean as the teen approached him. Now if that didn't give away how young that kid looked, Dean didn't know what would._

" _Yes." He replied, ignoring the harsh look that came from his father, but he wasn't lying._

_The day he turned eighteen his dad and he signed papers declaring that they had shared custody over Sammy. Dean had the papers prepared since he was sixteen and was forced to watch his little brother ripped from his arms and dragged out the door by Child Protective Service workers. It hadn't taken him long to talk his dad into signing the papers, John may have been a control freak, but he knew that there was a good chance that some night he would fail to return from a hunt and it would be better for everyone if Dean was already registered as Sam's guardian._

_The doctor squinted at the two of dishevelled men, probably trying to figure out if Dean was telling the truth, before simply shrugging his response._

" _Follow me." He instructed._

_The doc lead them down the hall, stopping in front of a patient's room. Dean peeked around the door and saw his baby brother lying very still on the bed, but even from the door he could hear the heart monitor beeping steadily, which brought temporary relief to his soul._

_That relief was short lived, disappearing the moment the doctor laid out the diagnosis; hypothermia, third degree frostbite on his hands, second degree on his nose, beginning signs of malnutrition. At the last one Dean tore his gaze from the young teen in bed and turned accusing eyes on his father, feeling the anger that had previously been overruled by fear, rise back up. John did not have the decency to look the least bit guilty, but rather continued to studiously give his attention to the doctor._

_Dean spent two nights by Sam's side, watching him shiver._

_Their dad came and went between the hospital and hotel; not that he cared, he hadn't even looked at the man since the doctor first gave them Sam's diagnosis._

_The doctor reported that his little brother just barely avoided having some of his fingers amputated; gangrene had been missed by a hair. The doctor's kept using words like 'miracle' and 'lucky' but all Dean could see how much damage had been done already._

_How much pain he hadn't been around to prevent._

_How badly he had failed his kid._

_Sam woke up a few times, but he was never near coherent enough to have an actual conversation; however every time he did rouse, he would look at Dean and croak the same short phrase._

_"You came"._

_It tore at the older boy's heart every damn time because Sam always said it as though he was surprised and relieved at the same time, as though he hadn't expected his brother to show up. Dean never got the chance to ask him about it, the kid would practically be back asleep - barely managing to get those two words out, let alone answer his brother's accumulating amount of inquiries._

_On the third day, the doctor told them that Sam was out of the woods, no longer hypothermic, and thanks to one of the many tubes attached to him, malnourishment was no longer impending._ _The moment his father heard the news he told him he was heading back out to finish the hunt, told him he had to take the Impala because they left his truck out there._

_"Like hell you are!" Was the most appropriate response Dean could conjure at the time._

" _Dean, this is not up for negotiation. I need to go finish the hunt that you ran out on and I need a car to get there." John proclaimed._

" _I didn't run_ _ **out**_ _on anything. I ran_ **to** _my little brother and the only reason I had to do that is because you don't know how to fucking take care of the kid! Besides, Sam and I are going to need the car. Doc says he should be released soon and the moment that happens we are getting into the Impala and driving south. So, if you need to go back there you better take a damn bus!" Dean seethed, keeping his voice low as to not wake Sam who was still sleeping in the bed two feet from this conversation._

" _Don't blame all of this on me, if you didn't coddle the boy so much he would know how to take care of himself, and if you think…"_

" _He's a kid! He isn't supposed to have to take care of himself! He isn't supposed to have to beg to be enrolled in school, he isn't supposed to be afraid to ask for money to buy supplies, or food, or a fucking coat! You're his father, you are supposed to take care of him!" Dean was getting aggravated now, unable to prevent the rise in his voice._

" _Don't you think I know that?!" John cried out, sounding broken, no longer on the defense, but more as though he was begging his eldest to understand. "I do the best I can, but I don't have time for all that. I have to focus on the hunt, because when I don't people get killed."_

" _I know that, Dad." Dean allowed, with a tone as understanding as he could muster in the moment. "The hunt has to be your priority, I get that, really I do; but Sammy has to be mine. He is still a kid and he needs to come first and since you can't put him first, I do, but you have to get off my back about it. Stop harping on me for always worrying and thinking about the kid; and stop telling me to focus less on Sam and more on the hunt, because it's never going to happen. You have to quit punishing me by sending me away from him every time I question you or piss you off. You have to stop trying to toughen him up by shipping me off and leaving him_ _ **alone.**_ _You need to let me put him first. You always told me that taking care of Sam was my job, so for fucksake, Dad, please just let me do it! I'm begging you!" Dean's voice was cracking, though he tried not to look weak, he knew by the end of his speech it was nothing more than a desperate plea._

_It didn't matter what his father said, Dean would always put Sammy first, he had always been first; but Dean knew that if he could get John to agree that was how it needed to be and stop riding his ass all the time, it would make the teen's job a hell of a lot easier._

" _You're asking my to just hand over my parental rights? You're asking me to just let you make all of the decisions regarding my own son?" John asked with an incredulous look, the same one he had given Dean early this year when the younger man had told him to sign the papers declaring their shared guardianship over the youngest Winchester._

" _You already have, Dad! I have been making decisions for Sammy since he was four, you just never paid enough attention to actually notice. Don't make me out to be the bad guy. I wish to God that you could be the father this kid deserves, the one that would look out for him and make him a priority, but you've proved that that's not possible. I trusted you to take care of him. I trusted you to listen to me when I told you he needed a coat and mitts and some decent food, but I realize now that was a mistake. I can't trust you to put him first. I can't trust you to take care of him."_

_Dean was angry._

_He knew that._

_He was angry at how horribly his father had failed his baby brother._

_He was angry that the hunt was and always would be his number one focus._

_He was angry that his kid couldn't grow up the way he should be able to._

_He was angry that Sammy had wound up in the hospital because Dean didn't do his fucking job._

_He was angry at how fucked up their lives were._

" _I love you boys."_

_Dean was surprised by the quiet statement that left his father's lips, he had been prepared for an outraged, bitter response, but not that._

" _I know you do, Dad, and so does Sam. You love us, but we aren't your focus and we won't be as long as the monsters are still out there. So find them, and make them pay for everything they did to this family and then re-learn how to be the father you were before all of this shit happened; but until then, I will take care of Sammy and he will be my priority. Because he's a fucking child, Dad, and that's what he needs."_

_It wasn't a question anymore, Dean was no longer asking for permission to make the decisions in all things Sam, it was a statement, a declaration that Sammy was his and John better back the hell off._

_John understood the order, he nodded his head casting a look in Sam's direction, and then he left the room, no final words or demands, just a silent exit. Dean watched him leave, releasing a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, and returned to his rightful seat next to his kid's bed._

" _Dean?"_

_The teen was startled by the sudden word, as quiet as it was. He pulled his head up from where it had been resting at the edge of his little brother's bed. Soft, mostly clear eyes met his gaze as he stood to get a better view of the boy._

" _Hey there, kiddo. How you feeling, little brother?" He asked, in a hushed tone as he gently rested his hand on the mop of brown hair._

" _Good." Was the simple reply._

_He gave his brother a look that exhibited his disbelief, prompting honesty._

_"I'm kinda cold, my hands are stinging, and I'm sort of thirsty." The young teen croaked._

_At the last comment, Dean immediately reached for the cup of water he had already prepared for this exact moment._

" _Here you go sleepy head." He said, raising the cup to his baby brother's mouth._

_Instinctively Sam went to take hold of the cup, stopping only when Dean gently pushed his arm down, knowing there was no way he would be able to grip the cup with his hands as bandaged as they were; Sam gave him a curious look, but opened his mouth as the cup was tipped towards it._

" _Thanks, De." Sam said a little more clearly when he was finished sipping at the water. Dean responded with a simple nod of the head as he returned the glass to its designated place on the side table and sat back in his designated place, a hard, unaccommodating, plastic chair._

_"What happened?" Sam asked once he had taken his seat._

" _What do you remember?" Dean questioned, legitimately wondering how much of the entire experience the kid had been coherent for._

" _Uhh, I was really cold and my hands…" Sam trailed off, clearly not wanting to worry the older boy by describing exactly how much pain he had been in. "And I turned on the oven to warm up, but I wasn't getting warmer, so I tried to have a shower, but my hands… and then I called you. That's it."_

" _You don't remember my coming back?" Dean asked, thinking that Sam had seemed relatively awake at that point._

" _No." Came the whispered reply._

" _Well I showed up a few hours after you called, you weren't answering the door when I knocked and I was about to break in before I realized it was unlocked."_

" _I remember trying to lock it when I got home from school, but I couldn't." Sam interrupted guiltily._

" _It's okay, Sammy. I wasn't accusing you, just telling you what happened." Dean assured, gently squeezing his brother's skinny forearm. "Anyways, when I went in you had yourself buried under a mound of blankets, lying in front of the oven door. You were sort of awake, but I guess not really with it. Once Dad and I saw your hands we brought you straight here." He finished quietly, proud that his voice remained steady the entire time._

" _Dad?" Sammy asked, questions in his eyes._

" _Yup. Anyways the doc said you were a little hypothermic, you got frostbite on your fingers and nose, and that you are one skinny-assed kid." Dean relayed with a smirk, downplaying his little brother's injuries by miles, thinking that he need not know how bad off he had truly been._

" _Since when is having a skinny ass considered medically relevant?" Sam asked with a slight smirk._

" _Since your ass is so skinny that the doc called you malnourished." Dean replied bluntly, no longer able to make light of such a serious situation._

 _Sam's eyes went wide, clearly taken aback, as Dean continued to stare directly at the younger teen, demanding answers with his look._ " _Dean…I…it's no big deal, alright?" Sam insisted softly, begging Dean to drop the matter with those ridiculous puppy eyes of his._

" _No big deal? You're joking right? I mean you better be fucking kidding! Cause last time I checked malnourishment was a pretty big deal, and my little brother being malnourished is a huge fucking deal! I mean what the hell, Sam? I'm gone for a week and you just decide to stop eating?" Dean declared, not trying to scare the kid, but needing him to comprehend the gravity of the situation._

_Sam's only response was to ashamedly look down at the white sheet covering his chest, allowing those long bangs to fall in front of his eyes, those same bangs Dean had just spent the last three days brushing out of his face. Dean smirked, allowing his momentary frustration to die down before gently grabbing hold of Sam's chin, forcing his hazel eyes to meet the green ones._

_"I'm not mad at you, Sammy, okay? You just scared me is all. You understand?" He asked, encouraged when he received a slight smile and a small nod from the young boy. "Good, now you going to tell me what happened?"_

" _Okay Dean." Came the quiet response, Sam always warming his big brother's heart with such unconditional trust._

" _Alright good, now how bout you start with why you went all Buddha hunger strike on me?" Dean questioned with ease in his tone, but intense concentration in his gaze._

" _Gandhi."_

" _What?"_

" _Gandhi went on a hunger strike, Dean, not Buddha." Sam replied, showing the first double dimpled smile Dean had seen since he'd left the kid in that motel over a week ago._

" _Whatever, geek boy." Dean snorted, waiting patiently for Sam to begin._

" _It's not that I intentionally tried not to eat, I just sort of forgot…and then I was too cold to care." Sam explained, taking every effort to avoid his brother's gaze._

" _You forgot? Seriously kid, when have you ever been able to pull one over on me? Especially with a lie as lame as that. Now I've been sitting here for three days waiting for the truth, and I will get it, even if I have to sit in this hard-ass chair for three more days." Dean explained calmly, but with a firm tone so that Sam would know he was not in the mood to take any bullshit._

"Three _days?" His little brother whispered, finally looking up at him with those big hazel orbs._

" _Yeah, Sammy, three days. So you going to tell him the truth now or what?" Dean asked, allowing slight irritation to enter his tone._

" _I wasn't lying!" Sam defended._

_Dean replied with the look he always gave his kid when he didn't believe him, and it worked as well as it always did._

" _Alright, so I didn't forget to eat, but when I got really cold I honestly wasn't hungry." Sam insisted, reflecting the intensity that lay within his eyes._

" _Alright, little brother, I believe you, but what about before you got really cold, why weren't you eating then?"_

" _I ate the first couple days, honest Dean, I had peanut butter sandwiches, but then when the bread was gone all that was left was the soup Dad bought and…well…" Sam trailed off, breaking eye-contact once more._

"I _know soup isn't your favourite, but if that's all you got that's what you eat. You can't be so picky all the time-_

" _Dean," Sam interrupted. "It wasn't that I didn't like it-it was…well Dad, ummm…"_

" _What, Sam? What did Dad do?" Dean inquired, more sternly than he had intended, feeling the anger towards his father make an aggressive return, wondering what else the man could have possibly fucked up._

" _He didn't mean to, I think he just forgot…" Sam started again, quieter this time._

" _He forgot what?" Dean questioned, attempting to hold on to the little patience he had left._

" _It was tomato." The kid mumbled, looking down at his bandaged hands._

_Dean looked away, body rigid and jaw clenched, doing what he could to not let the fury flowing through his veins take over._

_Tomato._

_The only goddamn thing on the planet that Sammy was allergic to; how could John possibly forget his youngest son's one allergy?_ _Dean couldn't understand it, the day they found out that Sam was allergic to tomatoes had been one of the most terrifying days of his life!_ _How in the world could John forget about that?_

_And Sam, being the stubborn little bitch that he was, obviously wouldn't let the man know that he'd screwed up. Of course, why would he? Their dad would probably just tell him that he wasn't 'made of money' and to 'make do'._

_The older boy growled, his anger no longer confined._

" _Dean." Sam said, as calm as ever, acting as though he hadn't been completely disregarded and let down by the two people that were supposed to protect him._

" _Don't 'Dean' me, Sam." He barked, looking into his little brother's imploring gaze, "I'm just trying to figure out how the hell Dad forgot that you were allergic to tomatoes!"_

" _It's okay." Sam assured, all puppy eyes and forgiveness._

_Dean scowled, rolling his eyes, knowing that this whole situations was as far as anyone could get from 'okay', but letting it slide for the sake of the little kid looking over at him as though he were some hero, when really all Dean had done was let him down._

" _Why didn't you call me sooner, Sammy? I mean you went days freezing and…and starving." His voice broke, Dean gave himself a second to swallow the growing lump in his throat, before continuing. "Why didn't you call me before it got so bad?" He finished with a whisper._

" _The same reason I didn't tell Dad about the soup, I'm tired of being a burden, Dean."_

" _Sam…"_

" _Just let me finish, you wanted the truth right?!b Well that's it, I'm tired of being the weakest link and the disappointment, but mostly I can't stand being a burden, especially to you."_

_Dean could hardly look at the kid before him, staring up at him under all that hair with those big, pleading eyes._

" _That's crap, Sam." He stated flatly, inwardly smirking at the teen's startled expression. "You are way too smart to be a weak link or a disappointment, and you sure as hell are not a burden!"_

" _You're just saying that." Sam muttered turning his watery gaze downward._

" _No, I'm not. Look at me." He placed a hand gently on the back of the young boy's neck and waited for the hazel eyes to meet him, continuing only when they did._ _"You are smart, you get straight A's in all your classes even though that should be impossible with how often you switch schools. You're becoming a great hunter and you are already the best at research, why do you think I always have you do mine?" Dean queried with a grin, getting a small smirk in response. "And most importantly, you are my little brother. Taking care of you is not a burden, Sam, it's my job."_

" _But it shouldn't be." Sam interrupted._

_Dean gave him a confused look._

_"You shouldn't have to take care of me, you're only eighteen! Taking care of me shouldn't be your job!" Sam insisted, much to his older borther's shock and frustration._

" _I don't think you are understanding me here, kid. Taking care of you is my job, it's one that I volunteered for, one that I always wanted and still do. It's a job I'm never giving up no matter what Dad says or how much you bitch about it, because it is who I am, Sammy."_

_Dean was not a fan of chick-flick moments and he rarely contributed so passionately to them, but this was important and he needed Sam to understand._

_"So I don't want to ever hear you talking about this burden shit again? You understand? It's not true and it sure as hell ain't worth you getting yourself killed over."_

_There was silence after Dean's heartfelt lecture, he dropped his head into his hands, too emotionally drained to continue the conversation, and Sam seemed to be - for the first time in his entire life - at a loss of what to say._

" _Thanks De." Was the quiet response that came minutes later._

 _Dean looked up to see a couple tears had gotten loose and were making their way down Sam's face. Those puppy dog eyes of his were as big and loving as ever and that dimply smile had Dean almost choking on the growing lump lodged in his airway._ _Refusing to give in to the utter girlishness of the moment, and searching for a way to bring some testosterone back into the room, Dean responded with a simple nod. Avoiding giving a verbal reply, knowing that if he did and his voice cracked - like he knew it was going to - and the tears that he was barely holding back were released - like he knew they wanted to be - he would probably start growing boobs or something._

" _I wasn't going to get myself killed."_

_Dean was confused by Sam's sudden statement._

" _Oh yeah? Really? So almost freezing to death was all just part of the plan then eh?!" He stated, instantly being bombarded by images of his baby brother curled up on the floor trying desperately to get warm, damaged hands held against his chest._

" _No, I bought the best coat I could find with the money Dad left me."_

_Dean cringed as the mention of Dad and the pitiful amount of cash he expected Sam to survive on._

_"And then I was going to try and make some money so I could buy some food and maybe some gloves."_

" _Make money doing what?"_

" _I don't know, I tried to get a job at the grocery store and a couple other places, but they all said I was too young." Sam sighed._

" _That's because you are too young!" Dean confirmed, assuming such a fact had been obvious, but apparently neither Sam nor his father were able to comprehend it._

" _You could always find work." Sam whined._

" _That's cause I'm older."_

" _No, Dad only thinks you started getting jobs a couple years ago, but I remember you finding jobs when you were my age."_

 _Dean squinted at his little brother, knowing that what he was saying was the truth, but also knowing that he wouldn't understand that Dean had been desperate to earn money then so he could take better care of the kid. The older boy thought it best not to share that tidbit of information, knowing how Sam would twist it and find a way to blame himself for his brother having to find work at a young age, realizing that he would never truly understand that taking care of Sam was something Dean had always done willingly, something that had always given him the greatest reward._ _Sure, he never technically got paid for looking after Sam, but it gave him more reward than any job he could ever have. The way the kid always looked at him like he was his hero, the way he loved him with everything he had, and the way he trusted him without question, that was Dean's pay, and it meant_ _ **everything**_ _._

_Not wanting to confess all those feelings and come off like a complete pansy, he stuck to a manlier response._

" _Well Sam, when I was fourteen, I looked sixteen. You on the other hand are fourteen, but you look like your twelve. Maybe if you got a little taller and grew some hair on that baby face of yours, you wouldn't have had a problem finding a job." Dean declared, smiling when he heard Sam laugh in response._

" _Sure, whatever you say, Jerk!"_

" _Don't you forget it, Bitch."_

_By the afternoon of the fourth day Dean was loading Sam into the Impala. He signed the release papers the second Sam's doctor gave him the okay, eager to get out of there, knowing that child service workers were probably on their way - no doubt they would be alerted when a minor with signs of malnutrition was admitted into the hospital - and knowing how they loved to appear right on release day._

_Dean had read up on all the information he needed to understand how to treat the remaining frostbite. He knew how to change the bandages on Sam's hands, and that the kid would be more prone to the cold weather now, especially his hands. Dean knew that now Sam's hands were much more susceptible to frostbite due to the damage that had been done and that they would have to take extra precaution to keep them warm. He knew that Sam needed to gain some weight back, something Dean had not needed the doctor to tell him, because the moment he watched his kid trying to hold up the pants that had fit him a couple weeks ago, Dean knew that the younger boy had lost far too much of the little fat he had to begin with._

_The elder Winchester bundled Sammy up in the passenger seat, the stubborn brat had refused to lie down in the back, insisting he belonged upfront. The first thing they had done when they left the hospital was purchase a brand new, fleece-lined coat and good quality thermal gloves (even though he had every intention of never allowing Sam out in the cold again, Dean figured they should have them just in case). Sam had tried to argue his way out of them, seeing the price tag and insisting they were unnecessary, but big brother had put his foot down._

_Once they got back into the Impala and Sam was under enough layers to satisfy the older teen, Dean pointed his baby south and just started driving, knowing he wouldn't be stopping until he hit warmth. The kid asked at one point where John was, Dean said he had gone to finish the hunt and that he would text them when he was done and meet up with them when he could, which was all true. Sam seemed content with the answer and promptly fell asleep, head resting against his big brother's shoulder instead of the window on which he would normally lean._

_Dean smiled, turned his music on quiet, and didn't stop driving until he hit Florida_

_\------------------------------------------------------------_

"Dean."

The hunter was pulled from his trip down memory lane at the sound of Sam's voice, glancing to his right he saw the young man staring at him, his large hands clasped in his lap - Dean could tell that his brother was making a conscious effort not to rub them together.

"What, Sam?" He questioned, noticing his jaw was sore from how hard he had been clenching it.

"It wasn't your fault." Sam declared, sounding far too understanding and caring and chick-flicky.

"What wasn't his fault?" Dean queried, feigning ignorance, thinking there was no way his little brother could read him **that** well.

"You don't think I know what you're thinking about? You're keyed up about as tight as you can get, you've been grinding your teeth for the past hour, and you keep looking over at my hands every five minutes."

Okay, so maybe his baby brother did know him that well.

"So, I'll say it again, it wasn't your fault."

"No, no it wasn't. It was Dad's." Dean growled, knowing that this was a conversation he wouldn't be able to escape from. It was true, he did blame John for that entire situation. He also blamed himself for not doing more, but Sammy didn't need to know that.

Shockingly enough, his aggravated response was met with silence. The driver glanced over to his right to meet his brother's wide eyes.

"What's your problem?"

"It's just…you usually find a way to blame yourself for … well … pretty much everything, and you hardly ever blame Dad for anything." Sam explained, conveying complete curiosity with both his tone and expression.

"I only blame myself for things that are actually my fault, Sam. You're the one with the guilt complex. And just because I don't fight with dad all the time, doesn't mean that I don't see when he fucks up."

"Yeah, maybe, but even when he does screw up, you rarely hold a grudge. That's more my style." Sam replied with a small smirk.

Dean snorted, "Yes, it sure is."

He left it there, hoping that Sam wouldn't continue to pry, but by the way the dork proceeded to stare intently at him during the small period of silence, he knew he wasn't going to get off so easy.

"So why haven't you let it go?" Sam questioned, gentle, but insistent.

"Because, Sammy, some things just aren't forgivable, alright?! And nearly getting you killed? That's one of those things. I can't let that go. I won't forgive someone who almost costs you your life, no matter who they are."

"Even Dad?"

"Especially Dad." Dean seethed, taking a calming breath before continuing.

"I don't hate him, Sam, and I'm not as angry with him as you seem to be, but I won't forgive him, not for that." Dean stated, taking a quick look at the young man's hands. After a couple seconds of watching them shake from cold as the kid tried to hide them in his sleeves, Dean had the heat in his baby blasting and all the vents aimed directly at his little brother. As he returned his gaze to the windshield, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam shyly glanced his way before slowly pulling his hands from his sleeves and placing them directly in front of the vents, releasing a small sigh as he did.

That was all it took for Dean to take that anger he had directed at his father and turn it on himself.

How could he just forget?

Dean knew it had been a few years since they hunted together, Sam being at Stanford and all, but how the hell could he just forget? Here they were, heading to Missouri in December, Sam's hands were only going to get colder the farther north they drove.

What the fuck kind of brother was he?

First, he screwed up so much that his kid brother got frostbite, and next he completely forgot about it; how easy it was for Sam to become cold, how his hands started shaking from November to March if he was anywhere remotely north in the country.

No wonder the kid chose to go to school in fucking California.

"You're doing it again." Sam pointed out, his hands still resting in front of the vents.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked, fairly certain he already knew the answer he was about to receive.

"I didn't want to-" Sam began.

"I swear to god if you say the word 'burden' I will kick your ass." He growled.

"Then what do you want him to say, Dean?" Sam sighed in resignation.

"How many times are they going to have to go through this?!"

Dean was frustrated now, running out of ways to make his little brother understand that taking care of him was the most important thing he did in life and was something he wanted and needed to do, it was what made him who he was – and he was fucking proud of that.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." He confessed, surprising both of them with the whispered phrase.

"What? I thought you said you didn't-"

"Not about that."

Though, he was sorry about that. He was sorry he hadn't fought harder be the one to stay behind to get Sam enrolled in school and settled. He was sorry he hadn't trusted his instincts, he was sorry he had trusted his father to put Sam first, he was sorry that he had put keeping the peace ahead of his kid's needs; all mistakes Dean would never make again, not ever.

"I'm sorry that I forgot, you shouldn't have to remind me. I know that makes you feel like a burden, even when you sure as hell aren't."

"Dean, come on man, it's alright."

"No, no it's not. I should have remembered. I shouldn't have picked a hunt up north at this time of year."

"Oh come on, seriously dude, we can't refuse hunts just because I get a little cold."

"You don't get a 'little cold'! You could very easily get frostbite."

"I know, I know, I'm prone to frostbite and easily hypothermic. That's why you always tried to talk Dad into hunts further south during the winter and the few times you couldn't you would tell him to go on his own, or you insisted on buying me the warmest, most expensive coat and gloves you could possibly find." Sam recalled, looking over at his brother with a smile, the love oozing out of those hazel eyes forcing Dean to look away before he got sucked in. "And I appreciate that, I really do. I could never thank you enough for having my back, and I still can't believe that Dad wouldn't put up too much of a fight when you insisted I got a new coat and gloves every winter and wouldn't let me train if it was too cold out." Sam finished with complete and utter admiration in his voice.

"Dad and I had an understanding." Dean responded bluntly, leaving no room for elaboration.

No, he didn't think he would ever tell Sam about the conversation he had with their father by the kid's hospital bed, the conversation where he practically declared that Sammy belong to him and John Winchester was not to be trusted with Dean's baby brother.

"Well … thanks, for always being there for me." Sam stated softly, still looking in Dean's direction.

"Oh gawd, are we going to have to hug now or something?" The driver whined rolling his eyes and then glanced at Sam, only to see his hands clenched and still shaking. "Geez kid, don't you have some gloves?" He asked, turning the heat up another notch, even though he was starting to bake.

"No." Came the simple response.

"Come on kid, you know you always need to have a pair of gloves around! What about the ones I got you before…" Dean trailed off not knowing how to word the end of his sentence.

Before what?

Before Sam went to school?

Before he left his family?

Before Dean's heart was torn from his body?

"Don't hav'em." Sam replied curtly.

"Really? What'd you stick them through the shredder or something? Those were some hard-core gloves." Dean was shocked that his little brother, who had always taken ridiculously good care of his possessions, had managed to wreck a pair of very good quality gloves.

"They weren't exactly fire-proof, Dean."

The older man almost choked at the whispered reply, the fire, gawd how could he forget that all of Sam's belongings went up in flames just a couple months ago.

Could he not remember anything important anymore?!

"Guess we'll have to buy you another pair then won't we, Jack Frost?" He joked, wanting to bring some levity back into the conversation.

"Jack Frost? Really?" Sam snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Why were you surprised when I came?" Dean cursed himself, why did he keep bringing up the past, especially when the conversation was just starting to move out of chick-flick central?!

"At the apartment? Well you didn't call-

"No, back when you were fourteen, at the hospital. Every time you woke up you would look at me and say 'you came' like you were surprised or something." Dean knew he probably just should have dropped the matter, hell Sam probably didn't even remember, but he had to know. Had he let his little brother down so massively that the boy didn't trust him to be there when he needed him?

"I don't really remember much about the first few days we were at the hospital; but I remember before, when I was trying to get warm, before I called you, that I wasn't sure if Dad would let you come get me." Sam relayed, looking over nervously.

"What the fuck would make you think that Dad could stop me from getting to you?" Dean balked in disbelief, did he really come off as the 'good little soldier' that strongly?

"I don't know, Dean, it was a long time ago okay?" Sam said defensively, which gave away the fact that he was lying right through his teeth.

"You do know, so tell me."

"Alright, but you have to promise not to get pissed."

"I can't do that, Sam."

"There's no compromising with you is there?"

"No there isn't, so just spit it out."

"It's not even that big of a deal."

"Why don't you let me decide that."

"Fine, it was just after you left the motel, I asked Dad why he was staying instead of you – a part of me knew that he was punishing one of us, or maybe both, but I wanted to see what he would say - and he said that you wanted me to learn to do things on me own, and that I couldn't depend on you for everything." There was a pause, Dean knew that Sam wasn't finished yet and he was already back to white-knuckling the steering wheel.

"What else did Dad say, Sam?" He bit out.

"He…uh… he said that you had to focus more on the hunt, that if you kept focusing on me instead you would end up getting yourself killed, so I had to man-up and pull my own weight…or something like that." Sam finished off, nervously biting his lip and giving his big brother a side-long glance.

Dean was unable to respond, concentrating instead on maintaining some level of calm as he continued to clench every muscle in his body.

"I knew you didn't think that." Sam continued, "I knew it was just Dad's way of trying to get me to grow-up and fend for myself, but it hurt, you know? The way he said it- it just- it made me feel like I wasn't good enough." Sam admitted, turning away from the driver to direct his gaze out the side window.

Dean couldn't believe their father could have that to Sam – and yet it sounded just like the eldest Winchester. It was no wonder the kid always felt like a burden. Dean couldn't wait for them to find John, so that he could personally kick his old-ass all the way to Mexico for making Sammy feel so goddamn worthless.

"That's why it took me so long to call you, I guess. I didn't want to admit defeat. I wanted to prove to Dad that I could do it, that I could take care of myself." There was a pause before Sam let out a bitter laugh. "Look how well that turned out."

"Don't, don't you do that, Sam. There was nothing you could have done to make that situation any better. Dad screwed you over. You survived a hell of a lot longer than any other kid your age could have; left in a shitty motel, with crappy clothes, a pathetic twenty dollars, and a bunch of food you couldn't even eat." Dean was vibrating with rage and bitterness, which was made obvious by both his body language and tone of voice.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the angsty angry one, remember?" The younger man pointed out with a smirk, no doubt attempting to calm his brother down.

"Don't I know it." Dean joked, "So Dad pulled a dick move and you didn't want to call so that you could prove you were capable, or whatever, but none of that explains why you were surprised I made an appearance - why you thought Dad could keep me from coming."

"I knew you hated to argue with him, hell, you hated it when I argued with him. I knew that you were trying to keep the peace so that we wouldn't be forced to be apart much longer. And I knew that at the end of the day you still trusted him, the same way he did with you, and I was worried that if he gave you a direct order you would have a hard time not following it."

"You're right, I hated arguing, but that never meant that I wouldn't do it, Sam. And direct order or not, there was nothing Dad could have done to keep me from coming when you called." Dean explained.

"I know that now." Sam admitted.

"Good, cause not even the great John Winchester can keep me from you, Bitch." The older man declared, smacking his little brother on the leg and flashing him a signature Dean Winchester smile.

"Thanks for that, Jerk." Sam replied, his voice dripping with sincerity.

Dean smiled, patting one of those knobby knees before returning his hand to the wheel.

He was still angry at their father and still felt guilty as hell, but he let those emotions die down for the time being, because right now things were good.

Right now, he was driving his baby to the closest clothing store, where he was going to buy Sam the warmest most expensive coat and gloves he could possibly find.

Right now, his little brother was safe and sitting right next to him.

Right where he belonged.

Right where he had _always_ belonged.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean hollered, marching across the store towards his moronic little brother.

"What?" Sam balked, looking over after he gave a quick glance around at the people who had heard the older hunter's slightly over-zealous inquiry. Dean smirked at the easily embarrassed young man, before pointing to his hands.

"What the hell are you doing with those?"

"Dude, you are the one who dragged me in here to buy gloves. Why are you acting like such a spaz because I'm trying a pair on?" Sam asked, feigning confusion.

"Yes, Sam, _gloves_ , not a pair of lame-ass mitts. I mean, come on man, these are flimsy and thin. The cold air will cut right through them." He exclaimed, pulling the pathetic objects from Sam's fingers and tossing them aside, not failing to notice that the large hands had yet to lose the shake they had adopted since entering Minnesota. "Now quit being a smart-ass and try these on." He instructed, tossing over a pair of thick thermal gloves.

"You're the smart-ass." Sam muttered as he examined the winter-wear with such disdain you would think it had personally offended him in some way. Dean watched as his little brother searched for the price tag, rolling his eyes when he couldn't find one and sending the shorter man an irritated look; causing him to smile with pride, because they may have not seen a lot of each other in the past few years, but Dean still knew the kid like the back of his hand…better actually. He knew that if Sam had seen the price tag all bets would be off, he was always far too financially conscious for his own good.

"Stop inspecting them and try them on already." Dean instructed, in the most exasperated tone he could muster. He watched as Sam slowly pulled the gloves over his shaking hands, clenching and unclenching the appendages as he tested them out.

"No." Sam declared, peeling the gloves off and tossing them aside to join the other rejects.

"Seriously? What could possibly be wrong with those ones? Are they not colourful enough for you? You want a pair with your name on it? Perhaps in bedazzle?" Dean stopped his rant at the sight of his brother's smile. "What are you so happy about?" He queried irritably.

"Bedazzle?" He replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, it's like shiny jewels and stuff you can put on your clothing..." He paused his explanation, noticing quickly by the continually rising corners of Sam's mouth that he was being played. "Don't look at me like that, bro, infomercials, okay?!" He defended lamely, in a sad attempt to justify his knowledge of bedazzling.

"Shut-up." he snapped as Sam continued to snicker. "Seriously though, what's wrong with the gloves? This is the sixth pair you've turned down and you haven't given me reasons for any of them."

Sam's smile fell and he turned his gaze to the floor, letting those ridiculous bangs curtain his features; damn those bangs always made Dean's job so much more difficult. In order to fix everything he needed to see what was wrong and since Sam rarely ever just spat it out, his facial expressions were key.

"None of them are warm enough." He muttered.

"Bullshit." Dean called-out. "Quit lying, Sammy, and just tell me what the deal is." He waited for the 'it's Sam' correction, and the fact that it never came had him concerned. He stood there patiently, knowing that, though the kid had always needed to be prodded, he never reacted well to being pushed or ordered - something their father never quite figured out.

"It's just…none of them are good enough, okay?" Sam defended, voice rising with frustration as he glanced up at the elder Winchester through the fringe of his hair.

"What do you mean good enough? These are high quality gloves, dude; I don't get what it is you want."

They stood there for a few moments, Sam examining the floor beneath his feet as Dean stared intently at his little brother, waiting for a response that came in the form of a simple shrug of the broad shoulders.

"Is it the money? 'Cause I promise you it's not a big deal; if it makes you feel better you can earn it all back during our next poker run. Or hustle some pool, because I know you still kick ass at that." Dean felt some relief at the appearance of a minimal Sam Winchester smile.

"It's not that."

"Oh really? So you're telling me you haven't been tossing aside half of the gloves I brought you after seeing the price tag?" Dean brought up, calling the bluff.

"Okay, so it is kind of that." Sam allowed.

"But not just that?" The hunter encouraged, needing to get to the bottom this and get some warm gloves on his kid's clenched and shaking hands.

Sam was looking down at the floor again; Dean was getting tired of this, twenty-two years and this kid was still as complex as ever, always making everything more difficult than it had to be.

"C'mon man, work with me here. These are warm, thick, good quality, fricken thermal gloves. If it isn't the money then what the hell is your problem?"

"They just don't work." Sam declared, his aggravation rising.

"Why? You weren't this much of a brat when we picked you up a coat a couple hours ago. When did you get so picky? I mean you have always paid too much attention to the money side of things, but other than that you never used to be so damn selective. Did Stanford turn you in to a picky prick?" Dean responded, cringing immediately after bringing up Stanford, knowing that was still a sore spot and feeling as though he had just ripped off a healing scab.

Sam gave no response aside from an angry glare and clenched jaw that told Dean he had crossed a line.

"Look, Sam, I'm-"

"Want to know what's wrong with them, Dean?"

The older boy hesitated, taken aback by the fury clearly evident in his baby brother's tone, but nodded nonetheless.

"They are too thick and they have no grip, which is fine unless you have to hold a gun or machete or whatever the hell kind of weapon you need to fight off the monster of the week. Or unless you have to try and light a match to burn some angry spirit's bones before you get chucked across the graveyard. Or unless you have to have your big brother's back on a hunt. So, sure, if finding a pair of gloves that makes it possible for me to watch your six makes me a picky prick, then fine, I guess that's what I am." Sam finished heaving in a breath and turning quickly, leaving Dean and all the nosey shoppers who had heard his outburst with nothing to do but to watch his back as he marched out of the store.

Dean was dumbfounded. He didn't know what kind of answer he had been expecting from the kid, but that was definitely not it. Once Sam was out of sight he looked over at the pile of rejected gloves, grabbing the warmest, best quality pair out of all of them and heading to the checkout to pay for the damn things.

He stepped out of the small department store and cringed, feeling the cold wind bite through his clothes and knowing how much this weather would suck for Sammy. Speaking of whom, he looked over to the Impala and spotted the gangly shaggy headed kid hunched over in the front seat. The idiot hadn't even taken the keys so he could turn the damn heater on. Dean grumbled about his baby brother's stupidity as he climbed into the car, tossing the newly purchased gloves onto Sam's lap before placing the keys in the ignition and starting up his baby's engine.

"Dean, for fucksake, I told you these aren't going to work!" Sam snapped, chucking the gloves across the car, just barely missing Dean's face as they smacked into the driver's side window.

The older man sent an irritated glance his brother's way, having it wasted as the boy was staring directly ahead, fuming. "I know that, Sam, that's why-" his explanation was cut off as Sam continued.

"Well if you know that, why the hell did you waste money on them? If you think for one second that having warm hands is more important to me than properly watching your back, you are out of your goddamn mind, because there is no way in hell-

"Sam!" He shouted, commanding his brother's attention before the future-lawyer went on with his little spiel.

Shockingly enough, Sam stopped and gave him the requested attention. Dean stalled for a minute, not spotting the anger he had expected to read on the young face, but rather distress and frustration. Seeing the clear need his brother had for him to understand his side of things, the hunter softened his voice and rethought his response, forming his words carefully. He used to be good at this, handling Sammy – and though their years apart had definitely made him rusty, it would forever be ingrained in him.

"Look, I get it, okay? And while I don't like that you are putting your health at risk, I understand your reasons. So, we will keep looking for gloves that work for hunting, alright?" Dean assured, making it clear to Sam that while he respected his reasons for being a stubborn little bitch, he was not giving up on finding him a pair of warm, hunting-compatible gloves.

Sam nodded his agreement, allowing the compromise and then looked over to where the gloves had fallen in the driver's side foot well.

"Then what's with those?" He asked, indicating the rejected winter-wear.

"Well, Sam," Dean started, reaching down and grabbing hold of the gloves, tossing them gently back over to his clueless little brother. "I get that they aren't good enough for hunting, but we aren't hunting all the time and I am getting pretty tired of you hogging all the hot air." Dean commented with a smirk, directing his gaze pointedly to the hands resting directly in front of the vents.

Sam removed his hands immediately, sliding them up his sleeves. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Put them on." He ordered, being careful not to sound too authoritative, knowing that it would not achieve the desired result. He smiled at Sam's exasperated sigh as he reached for the gloves that had landed on his lap, his smile fading quickly as he watched his little brother struggle to pull them on. Sam was having a difficult time getting a solid grip on the outerwear, his fingers trembling so intensely that he was unable to perform the simple task.

After two minutes of watching the kid struggle out of the corner of his eye, Dean had enough. He guided his baby to the side of the road and then twisted to see his brother, grabbing hold of the cold hands before they were tucked away.

"Fuck, Sammy, why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" He questioned as he felt the frigid temperature of the skin.

"It's not that bad, Dean." Sam whined, tensing his hands, about to tuck them away, only stopping when Dean began to massage them in earnest, rubbing the warmth and circulation back into the icy fingers.

Dean tugged Sam's left hand toward his own body, pulling it into his jacket and tucking it underneath his armpit as he began to massage some level of warmth back into his brother's right hand.

It may have been a few years, but this was a process he had done hundreds of times before and he hadn't forgotten a single step. He was reminded of all the times he had done this in the past, all the times it had gotten too bad, all the times he had to rub feeling and warmth back into his baby brother's fingers.

One occasion in particular bombarded his mind.

\------------------------------------------------------

" _Sam, get your skinny-ass out here, it's dinner time." Dean hollered from the kitchen in the tiny apartment they were renting._

 _Don't get him wrong, he was psyched they wouldn't be spending the month trapped in some sleazy motel room, but the tiny apartment was pretty much just a motel room with doors._ _It was a one bedroom, he an Sam sharing that one bedroom…and the one bed; and Dad sleeping on the couch in the main room whenever he was home long enough to grab some shuteye._ _Though they did, on occasion, rent a cabin or an apartment in whatever town they ended up in, it was a rare occurrence, usually opting for the inexpensive and discrete choice provided by motel living._

 _Their father had planned on checking them into a motel, but the moment he saw the sketch feast of a building Dean talked him into an apartment. John agreed because he knew that they would be in town for a solid amount of time, to allow Sammy to finish out the last month or so of school, before the Christmas break in the same location, and because even he could not deny the atrocity of a motel the town had._ _The moment they had pulled up to it Dean could practically see all the perverts looking over his baby brother like he was a piece of fucking meat and it made him sick. John had rolled his eyes when Dean told him as much, saying that Sam was old enough to defend himself now and he knew not to talk to strangers. All of which was very true, but Sam was also just a fifteen-year-old kid and he'd gotten taller sure - finally beginning to catch up to his older brother as horrifying as that was - but he was still just a lanky thing and had yet to rid of that baby face._

 _Dean had years of experience in fighting creepers off his brother, but that didn't make it okay - every time he had to do it, it made him sick. And though Sam was getting older, he was still too easy a target. And maybe now he was capable enough to know that the old man around the corner didn't want to be his friend, and he could even fight him off; but forget the perverts touching him, Dean couldn't even handle it when they looked at the kid, eyeing the boy up and down. Every time he saw that happen, he felt rage rising in his body as he thought of that one time. That one time at some sleaze bag motel that some grown man had set his eyes on Sammy and Dean had almost been too late to save his kid. The one time the pedophile got too close._ _Every time Dean remembered that one occasion, he automatically began to gag, biting his lip to keep from retching. He had to swallow convulsively for the entire time they had been parked in that nasty parking lot, and he hadn't been able to stop until they pulled out of it._

 _Dad could roll his eyes all he wanted, but there was no way Dean was leaving Sammy alone in that shit hole for one fucking second, because they would be in town for at least a month and the older boy knew he would be getting a part-time job, meaning that Sam would be on his own for a while every day after school; which was fine, as long as he was alone and_ _**safe** _ _, not being ogled by a bunch of fucking perverts._

" _Sammy!" He hollered out again, wanting desperately to escape the place his mind had taken him._

" _I'm busy, Dean!" He heard his little brother shout from their room._

" _I don't give a shit. Get your ass out here, dude, and eat your dinner." Dean responded, dumping the spaghetti onto two plates. Smiling at himself, proud of his cooking ability and of the fact he could actually afford to buy some decent grub thanks to his job at the video store. Personally, he would have much rather hustled some pool or poker, or use one of those copied credit cards. But their dad had insisted he didn't use the cards when they stay in the same place for a while, and this town only had one tiny bar with like no game, and he needed money, so a real job it was._

" _Come on, Sam." He muttered, marching to their bedroom door, eager to eat and not having time for his pain-in-the ass little brother._

" _Hey, geekface, if you don't get out here and eat your dinner, I will eat it for you." He threatened as he opened the door to see Sam bent over his homework._

" _Have it then." He dismissed, without even glancing up._

"N _ice try bitch, but I know you didn't eat breakfast and I saw the sandwich I made for your lunch in the fridge, which would mean you haven't eaten today. So, you will be eating dinner even if I have to ram it down your gullet." Dean lectured in exasperation, what the hell did the kid have against food?_

_The older boy squinted at his little brother's back when he got no response, the narrow shoulders were shaking lightly, he figured Sam was cold again. He had been shivering last night even wearing both their sweaters and hogging all of the blankets. He had been shaking so much Dean broke his own rule and pulled the slim frame into his side, hoping his warmth would help. He had lain awake almost all night trying to heat his baby brother and hating himself and his father for how much they had failed Sammy. It was November, but they were in Virginia, he was hoping that would be far enough south, but there was still a chill in the fall air and the kid was definitely feeling it._

_It had been nearly a year since Sam got frostbite and it still blew Dean's mind how easily he got cold; how a small chill could have him shivering and rubbing his shaking hands together for hours._

" _Stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking shit!" Dean flinched at Sam's sudden outburst, watching as he punched at his textbook before throwing it, along with his pencil, across the room, stopping only when they hit the wall and fell heavily to the ground._

" _Okay, kiddo, did that book insult you in some way?" Dean queried, as he cautiously approached his little brother, who was still hunched over his one remaining notebook. Apparently, his comment wasn't funny or annoying enough to elicit any sort of reaction._

_He walked past Sam to the textbook that had been catapulted across the room, bending down to grab it and flipping it over to see what this kid had been working on that made him so angry; hoping he'd be able to help – not that school was really his forte, he was a drop out after all. He was surprised at what he saw, it looked like an English workbook, Sammy loved English; Dean had been expecting math, which was usually the only subject that frustrated his little brother._

_Upon closer inspection of the book in his hand, Dean realized the problem. All of Sam's written responses were difficult to read, if it was Dad or him that would be totally normal, both of them had disastrous writing, but Sam's had always been neat. And yet his work was practically illegible, it looked like he had written it in the car or during an earthquake or – shit - or his fucking hands were shaking too hard for him to print clearly._

" _Sam." he sighed, dropping the book carelessly onto the bed as he knelt down in front of his hunched over baby brother, ducking to see the face hidden under all that hair._

" _Why didn't you tell me it was so bad?" He questioned quietly, reaching out and tugging Sam's sleeves up so that he could get a hold of his hands._ " _Shit, kiddo." Dean hissed, feeling the icy temperature of the bony fingers as he trapped them between his hands and began to rub._ " _Where are your gloves?" Dean asked, his tone conveying his frustration with the stubborn paper white appendages that refused to generate heat._

" _In my bag." Sam muttered, still refusing to meet the green eyes._

" _Why the hell aren't you wearing them? I mean, fuck, Sam, you can't let it get this bad." Dean scolded as he used the only strategy that worked when the kid's hands got this bad, tucking one of them under his armpit as he entrapped the other between his two much bigger hands and began to rub and massage the warmth and circulation back into the young teen's frozen limb._

" _I can't hold a pencil with them, Dean. I tried." Sam sighed; the defeated tone in his voice had the older boy searching to see his expression past his bangs._

" _Sam." He called, hoping to get some eye contact, acquiring it after a minute or two._

_The kid looked exhausted. Dean racked his brain trying to remember if he looked that way when he left the house that morning, and kicking himself for not barging in to see the teen as soon as he got home, settling instead at the sound of his voice._

" _Was it like this all day?" Dean wanted to know if his brother just spent the entire school day struggling to do his work._

" _Yeah." Sam muttered._

" _Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, switching Sam's hands, tucking one away as he rubbed on the other. His anger and rage for the entire situation turning into despair, because it was all his fucking fault that his kid had to deal with this shit._

" _Cause I didn't want you to march into the school and start doing this. I'm already the new kid, I don't want to be the freak too." Sam smirked, attempting to make light of his undoubtedly shitty day._

" _Sam, they knew you were a freak the second they saw all that hair." Dean scoffed, stopping the circulation process for a moment to swipe the bangs out of his brother's eyes. He felt satisfaction at Sam's smirk and returned to rubbing vigorously at the slowly warming appendages._ " _We are going to have to figure something out, kiddo, because you can't go to school and try and write with these icicles all day."_

" _Yeah, I know." Sam sighed._

" _We will think of something, buddy, don't worry. We'll get you some thinner gloves or pocket warmers or something."_ _Because Dean would do anything, anything it took to make this better._

" _You just bought me new gloves last month."_

" _Yeah, because your old ones were too small. You're sprouting like a weed, you little bitch." Dean jabbed with a grin._

" _Whatever, jerk. But seriously, Dean."_

_Dean rolled his eyes at the sound of Sam's tone._

_"You can't keep spending money on me."_

" _It's my money. I can do whatever the hell I want with it." Dean bit out, irritation rather than anger dominating his voice. Didn't this kid understand how much Dean owed him? How much Dean would do for him?_

" _I know, it's just not fair. I'm sor—_

" _Hey! What did I say about apologizing for this?" Dean intervened, his volume louder than he had intended._

" _Yeah but, De-_

" _What did I say?" He barked, halting his ministrations, clutching both Sam's hands in his as he looked up into those puppy-dog eyes with a no-bullshit expression._

" _I'm not five, Dean, I don't have to repeat what you said." Sam whined, in that signature I'm- too-mature- for-this-shit tone._

" _Well let's just refresh your memory, little brother. I told you to never apologize for anything having to do with your frostbite because it is not your fault. Do you understand?" Dean clarified, maintaining eye-contact with Sam throughout, being sure he knew this was not a joke. Not allowing him to take responsibility or feel bad for something that was entirely on John and Dean._

"Okay _, I get it." Sam huffed after a moment, rolling his eyes._

" _See, you say that, but then you start sprouting these dumbass apologies, which makes me think that at least part of your big brain is not getting it." He pointed out as he went back to warming his little brother's frigid fingers._ _There was silence for a few minutes, and just as he was becoming satisfied with the temperature of the limbs in his grip, Sam spoke up._

" _Dean." He started quietly, almost in a whisper as he stared down at his lap._

" _I swear to god, Sam, if you apologize one more time I'm going to-_

" _No, it's not that." Sam interrupted the threat, dimples showing with his smirk._

_Dean sighed and looked up expectantly, waiting of Sam to continue with what better not be another fucking apology._

" _I…uhhh…found a pair of gloves at the department store today. They are thin and I think they would work for school and stuff." Sam explained quickly, seemingly nervous that his brother would object before he had finished speaking._

" _Good, we will run over after dinner and pick up a pair." Dean confirmed simply, because getting this kid another pair of gloves was quite literally the least he could possibly do for him._

" _Okay, thanks." Sam replied with a small smile._

" _No problem, kiddo. Now let's go eat before dinner gets any colder." He announced, placing Sam's hands down onto his lap and patting the bony knee as he straightened from his crouched position. The teen stood, following his older brother in reply. Dean realized something and stopped once they reached the door to their room, turning around so suddenly that Sam walked right into him._

" _When did you go to the department store?" Dean asked, part in curiosity, part accusation._

" _Umm…" Sam stalled, biting his lip._

" _Spit it out."_

" _I went after school."_

" _Come on, man. You know you are supposed to go straight to school and straight back to the apartment. That was part of the deal of staying in town until Christmas break. I can't be worrying about you while I'm at work." Dean explained in earnest._

" _I know, but I'm old enough to go to the store on my own." Sam pouted. "Hell, I'm way older than I was when Dad would leave me in a town on my own."_

" _I know you are, nobody is questioning that, but just humour me, okay? We can go out when I get home from work, but while I'm gone you got to school and you come straight here, alright?" Dean said, making an insistent request, but not an order. Sure, maybe Dean was being paranoid, but the truth was that whatever John was hunting had already killed several teenagers and Dean wasn't about to let Sam become the next victim._

" _Okay, Dean. I didn't plan on going, it was just on my way home from school and I only went in to look for something for my hands."_

" _Yeah dude, I get it, but why couldn't you just wait until I got home and then we could both go over?"_

" _Because then you would pay for them. I wanted to buy them on my own, but I didn't have enough." Sam finished, looking up at his big brother with those stupid puppy eyes, begging him to understand._

" _I have no problem paying for the things you need, alright? You just got to let me know, cause I'm not a damn mind reader, dude." Dean remarked with a smile, mussing Sam's hair as the boy nodded in agreement, before turning around and heading toward the kitchen._

" _You pretty much are." He heard the teen mutter as he followed him to the other room._

" _What?" He asked, placing the pasta in the microwave after giving it the finger temperature check._

" _You pretty much are a mind reader; you always know what I'm thinking." Sam explained as he dropped into one of the kitchen chairs._

" _What can I say, Sammy, you're an easy read." Dean quipped with a smirk, pulling the first plate of spaghetti from the microwave and setting it in front of his baby brother._

" _Am not." The teen muttered, picking up a fork and stabbing at his food._

" _Whatever, man." Dean replied, knowing full well how easy it was to read his little brother, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, but also recognizing that Sam had the ability to play strangers by showing the emotions he knew to be the most effective. The older boy also knew that Sam was getting better at hiding things, not only unauthorized trips to the store, but his feelings and emotions. Dean chopped it up to being a teenager and was simply content with that, because though others were having trouble, he was still able to read his little brother and dig into that freaky mind when he needed to – even if it took a little more work some days._

" _Eat it, Sam. Stop stabbing it." Dean admonished, staring intently at the teen as he chewed on the noodles in his mouth. After releasing a put-upon sigh Sam jammed half a forkful of noodles in his mouth and chewed loudly, his mouth wide open, allowing Dean to view the process._

" _Nice. Were you raised by wolves or something?" He feigned disgust at the pasta being crushed by his little brother's teeth._

" _No, I was raised by a Jerk." Sam replied; a comment Dean knew was meant to be insulting, but the genuine love and adoration that was oozing out of the kid's eyes struck him so intensely that he had to look away to keep from turning into sentimental mush._

_Dean knew what Sammy was saying, and that he should be reiterating their dad's role in his childhood, but he found himself at a loss for words, because Sam and he both knew the truth. No matter how badly he wanted to argue it, it couldn't be denied._

_John had no doubt played an important role in Sam's childhood, and Dean knew that regardless of their differences of opinion, the two stubborn buggers loved each other, but the truth was when it came to raising the little squirt…well that job was Dean's. And the fact that even after he had messed up in such colossal ways, Sam still loved him and saw him the same way he always had, that made his heart swell and his throat clog up with emotion._

_Dean smiled at the comment, staring at Sam and letting him see the look of love he knew was on his face, a look that was never witnessed by anyone other than his little brother._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------_

"Dean?" It was a quiet voice that pulled him from his memory, a voice that he have been attuned to his entire life, one that, regardless of volume or tone, would always pull him out of his mind, out of sleep, and even out of unconsciousness.

"What, Sam?" He replied, mindlessly switching hands as he noticed the one he had been massaging during his flashback was getting far more attention than the one sucking the warmth from his armpit.

"Nothing, you just looked pensive." Sam responded.

Dean looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at his choice of words and then returning his attention to the frustratingly frigid fingers in his grasp.

"What are you thinking about?" Sam asked resting his head against the side window, looking at the older hunter under his bangs, his hands twitching slightly as Dean worked on them.

"Where to go to find gloves that keep these icicles warm and work for hunting." He muttered.

"It's not a big deal."

He gave Sam an incredulous look, needing no words to communicate how idiotic his little brother's statement was.

"What? I can wear the gloves you bought whenever we aren't on a hunt. And I just won't wear any when they hunt. It's fine." Sam insisted.

Apparently, Dean did need words to get across to his little brother how ridiculous he was being.

"Sam, I get that you need better gloves for hunting, so we'll find some, okay? Not wearing anything on your hands is not an option, especially if you don't want me to pick hunts as far south as possible for most of the year."

"No, you can't choose what we go after based on the weather, we have to go where we are most needed -

"Okay, so you wear gloves." Dean surmised, smirking when Sam realized he had just played into his hands.

"But Dean…"

"Sam! This is not up for debate!" He argued, feeling a twinge of regret as the young man flinched at his outburst, his grip tightening when Sam attempted to pull his hands away. "Buddy, you have got to work with me here." He continued in a softer tone, proceeding with the last step of the warming progress, placing both of Sam's hands between his and rubbing them vigorously.

"I get that you need to watch my back and the gloves aren't going to work, I also get that you don't want to choose hunts based on temperature, but do you realize the kind of damage you could do to your hands by not wearing gloves?" He questioned, trying to get the younger man to understand.

The lack of response told Dean that Sam was still fighting reality, so he pulled out his secret weapon.

"And, Sam, there is nothing better than having you backing me up, but if your hands get as bad as they were a few minutes ago, shaking so hard you can't pull on a pair of gloves, do you really think you'll be able to handle the weapons any better than you could with those on." He pointed out, nodding at the gloves on Sam's lap before looking up at his brother's face.

He took no pride in manipulating Sam's love for him to get him to agree, but this was about the kid's health, so Dean would do whatever he had to. He cringed as Sam ripped his hands from his grip, glaring at them, no doubt blaming them for placing him in such a shitty situation.

"Alright." The younger hunter agreed quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking back over at his brother with an expression that said as clear as day that he didn't like it, but he wasn't going to dig his heels in anymore.

"Alright." Dean repeated, hoping this would be the last time they had this argument, but over two decades of experience dealing with Sammy telling him that was very unlikely.

Dean smiled ruefully as he watched the relief on his brother's face as he was finally able to coordinate enough to pull on the new gloves. Sam rolled his eyes when he saw Dean's expression and turned his gaze out the window as the car was steered back onto the road.

"We are still a few hours away from the town with, what is probably, a really pissed of spirit. So, get comfy and take a nap or something." Dean was going for casual, but he seriously wanted his kid to get some sleep. Since Jessica, Sam hadn't been getting a lot of rest, and whatever he did get was riddled with night terrors.

"Probably?" Sam parroted, slouching down in his seat as he glanced to the driver's side.

"What?"

"You said it's probably a spirit? Why probably?"

"Well that's what it looks like, but I haven't let my geek brother look it over and research the shit out of it yet, so I can't be sure."

"Nice, Dean. You sure know how to give a compliment."

"Who says that was a compliment?"

"Your face does, Dean, that's who. You've always been such an easy read."

Dean snorted at Sam's comment, sending him an exasperated look. The young man smiled in reply, before leaning tiredly against the passenger door and closing his eyes.

The driver glanced intermittently between his little brother and the road as he drove. He was relieved when he could tell Sam had finally drifted off, the innocence that always took over the young face when the kid was peacefully asleep always made Dean's insides clench.

He directed his gaze to the gloved hands jammed into the coat pocket and noticed a shiver run its way through the long body. Dean made sure all the vents were pointed in Sam's direction as he turned the heat up a notch and twisted to feel around in the back, finally grabbing a hold of the old wool blanket stuffed under the seat and pulling it to the front. He shook it out and haphazardly laid it over his little brother, trying to keep one eye on the road while tucking the edges under the long legs and pulling it up to fold over the broad shoulders.

He smirked at Sam's content sigh as the young man snuggled into the blanket, rolling his eyes at what a child the sasquatch could be. Satisfied that Sammy was warm enough for the time being, Dean sat back in his seat and stared out the windshield, forming a plan of action in his mind.

They would drive until they hit the town containing their hunt, hopefully Sammy would sleep until they arrived. Then they would grab some food, check the place out, and next they would go search up and down for a pair of gloves that would work for hunting. Dean nodded in satisfaction with his plan of attack for the next couple days and sent another side-long glance to his baby brother, relieved to see he was still peacefully asleep.

He grimaced as a familiar guilt ran its way through him, the self-loathing and anger bubbling up. He wondered if he would ever forgive himself for letting Sam down so many times. A part of him hoped that he wouldn't, because he didn't deserve to be forgiven; he sure as hell didn't deserve the forgiveness he always received from his little brother. So, he swallowed the anger and held onto a little bit of the guilt as he vowed never to let Sammy down again.

He glanced over to his right as the younger man shifted, worried he was entrapped in a nightmare, and relieved to see his expression hadn't changed and he was simply repositioning.

How Sam's shaggy hair was splayed across his face and the way he was curled up made him appear so young and vulnerable.

A sleeping little brother was one of the many triggers that caused Dean's protective streak to come alive.

Fuck, he loved his kid.

It was always a reality, but in moments like this it hit him like a sucker bunch to the gut, stealing the air from his lungs with the sheer force of it.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop staring, Dean."

"I'm not staring."

"Dude, you are totally staring. I can feel your eyes drilling into my forehead."

"Eyes can't drill, Sam. Don't be stupid."

"We have been sitting here for over an hour and your eyes have been on me the majority of the time. Trust me. They can drill."

"Whatever, man."

Dean tore his gaze from his little brother, letting it wonder the library before returning to the large book open on the table.

Research had never been his thing. Sam could sit for hour or days reading every possible novel or article without getting the least bit bored, Dean was man of action – even a few minutes of sitting stagnant was enough to bore the shit out of him. No too mention he was far too busy watching the tremors in Sam's hands to focus on the information written before him.

"Can't you just put the gloves on?" He asked for what was probably the third time since they arrived at the library and started sifting through city records.

"Dean." The young man whined in exasperation, reluctantly raising his eyes from the text to stare at his brother through the fringe of his hair.

"What? "

"I can't turn pages when I'm wearing gloves, which you know, because I told you the same thing less than twenty minutes ago." Sam explained with a sigh.

"I know, I know. But I don't get how you can turn pages with your hands vibrating like that." Dean pointed out, gesturing towards the unsteady culprits.

Sam looked down at his hands, watching them tremble for a minute before clenching and placing them underneath the table, hiding them from view; he then took a slow long breath, before returning his gaze to meet his brother's.

"Look Dean, I get that you are worried, honestly I do. But please be realistic. You know I can't research with gloves on my hands, so stop asking and stop staring. I get where you are coming from, but I'm okay, honest." Sam implored.

"Oh, don't give me that." Dean groaned after a moment, rolling his eyes at the puppy dog look he was receiving.

"What?" The younger man queried innocently.

"The witness voice."

"The what?"

"That tone of voice you use when you talk to witnesses, all caring and understanding. I'm not some traumatized girl, so don't talk to me like I am. And put away the puppy dog look, it's pathetic." He huffed, rolling his eyes away from his little brother to avoid the sympathetic stare he was receiving.

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about?"

"You're kidding, right? You don't…the voice…oh gawd never mind." Dean grunted, not believing for one second that Sam did not intentionally pull out the witness tone and puppy dog eyes whenever he required them.

They sat in silence a few moments. Dean did his best to keep his eyes on the research in front of him, instead of on his little brother. He heard paper rustling and glanced up to see Sam, in all his OCD glory, organizing all the information. The nerd was no doubt stacking all the research in piles according to degree of usefulness. Dean watched as the papers shook in the long hands hands, unable to tear his eyes from the scene. He knew the slight tremor wasn't dangerous, it wasn't severe yet; meaning there was still good circulation in the limbs, but that didn't make it any easier for him to watch.

"Dean! For fuksake, stop it with the staring!" Sam complained in frustration.

"I'm not!".

"Yes, you are, and it's annoying the hell out of me."

"Geez, Sammy, you're such a sensitive little bitch."

"It's Sam, and I'm sure you'd love being constantly examined."

"Oh please, I get checked out all the time; it's the price of beauty, little brother."

Sam quirked an eyebrow and smirked at the implication that could be found in the comment.

"Oh ewe, don't make it gross. I'm not checking you out, I'm…supervising."

"Yeah, okay, whatever you need to tell yourself." Sam replied with a smile. It was small, and at Dean's expense no doubt, but he couldn't help but revel in the small achievement. It was rare these days to see a genuine Sammy smile, accompanied with that annoying light he got in his eyes whenever he grinned.

"You're disgusting." Dean grumbled, feigning revulsion.

"Seriously though, man, I think I'm past the age where I require supervision."

"You're my little brother, Sammy, you'll always need my supervision." Dean replied with a wink.

"Sam. And fine, whatever, just please stop staring at me, it's distracting."

"Fine." He relented, placing his hands up in surrender and pointedly looking away. He glanced aimlessly around, searching for something to entertain him as he heard Sam messing with his research papers again.

Dean found his mind wandering, along with his eyes.

Sam thought he understood what it felt like to have someone drilling into you with their eyes, but the truth was, that kid didn't know the half of it. Sure, Dean spent a lot of time watching his little brother; making sure he was okay, sleeping soundly, and out of danger. his father had also spent a lot of time looking at Sam, often in frustration, but never quite with the 'drilling holes in your head' intensity, because usually by the time the hunter was that furious he had vacated the area. Dean did get checked out quite often, and Sam sure had a way of looking into him to try and understand what was going on, something that the brat did far too often. None of those classified as drilling looks either, but John - the way he would stare at Dean made him feel as though his dad was burning into his skull. Mind you, Dean had returned that same look a great many times. Sam probably wouldn't believe that their father and Dean had ever exchanged such glares. He seemed to be under the impression that the eldest Winchester child was Dad's favourite and that John was Dean's idol; and while the older boy had always had great respect for his father, he have never been blind to the man's flaws, nor had John been blind to Dean's.

He remembered the first time he received an accusatory, angry stare from their father. It was after Dean almost allowed his little brother to get killed by that shtriga. The next time was a couple days later when Sam had his first asthma attack. His childhood asthma had appeared out of nowhere, leaving doctors baffled, but the moment the diagnosis was handed out, Dean had received that accusatory look, and he knew exactly where the illness had come from. He got that same drilling glare during every asthma attack after that. Every time Sammy ran out of breath, every time Dad had to cut down on the number of laps the kid had to run, and every time they had to spend money on a new inhaler.

Dean did not understand why his father thought he needed that look of accusation on each occasion Sam's asthma made an appearance. As if Dean didn't know full-well it was all his fault, as if he didn't feel like absolute shit whenever he saw the raw fear in his baby brother's eyes because the kid couldn't get enough air, whenever his face fell at not being able to participate in gym class, and whenever he felt like he let Dad down because he couldn't train harder. As if Dean didn't know he was a failure every damn time he had to hold the inhaler to Sam's gasping mouth, every time he had to listen to the young boy wheeze or watch tears trail down his face due to his inability to perform such a basic bodily function.

Sam did eventually grow out of his childhood asthma, having his last attack at thirteen; luckily the looks stopped coming after that. Less than a year later, though, the tables had turned. Instead of receiving that accusatory stare, Dean was giving it.

He glared at his father with blame and anger each damn time the tremor appeared in Sam's hands, every time the kid couldn't perform simple tasks because his hands were shaking so severely; whenever Dean had to rub the circulation back into his baby brother's frozen limbs, or explain to him again that he was not letting anyone down or being a burden. Mind you, their father rarely had the same decency Dean did when he was the victim of accusation. Often when he could feel his father's eyes drilling through his skull during one of Sam's asthma attacks, Dean would hang his head in shame, or do his best to focus on the young boy gasping for breath in his arms. When he sent that same look his father's way, John did his best to ignore it, turning his back or leaving the location entirely.

There was only once occasion Dean could recall his father accepting the blame and furry he sent through his glare.

The older Winchester boy let his eyes aimlessly roam the library as he thought back to that day years ago.

\----------------------------------------------------

" _We can't stay here, Dad!"_

" _We don't have a choice, Dean. If we try and leave now we'll get caught in the storm. You really think Sam would be better off spending the night in the Impala, trapped in a snow drift somewhere?"_

" _This is exactly why I wanted to be out of here a week ago!"_

" _Well if you hadn't botched the job, we would have been out of here a week ago."_

" _Don't give me that shit! If you hadn't totalled your truck, Sam and I could have taken off and left your ass here a week ago."_

_John sucked in a long deep breath and Dean knew the man was ready to rip into him for the disrespect he had displayed, but he really didn't give a shit. It was their father's fault they were going to spend the night stuck in a cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere during a snowstorm. It was his fault that they came this far north in the first place, though snow storms in Missouri in October weren't overly common, it was still too far north._

_Tremors started running through Sam's hands a few days after they arrived at the damn cabin. But of course, Sam was a sixteen-year-old teenager who was independent and stubborn as hell, so he did his best to hide the tremors to prove how fricken capable he was._

" _You better watch it, Dean. I can only take so much disrespect." His father's voice was dark and lethal, the way it got when he was at his end._

" _I've got to go get some wood before it's all soaked by the snow." The older boy muttered, stomping off the rickety porch._

_He tried to calm down as he gathered up some of the logs he had cut up the previous day, grabbing as much as he could carry; knowing they would have to keep the fire going all night, because of course the cabin in the middle of the woods had no heating._

_He knew that his dad hadn't done this on purpose. He had genuinely thought it would be a short hunt, but then one monster became three and the job got a lot more complicated. Dean would have taken Sam and left last week when they put down two, knowing that their father would be able to find and handle the one that they had missed. But then John had to go and try and hit the third one with his truck, he hit it, but he also managed to ram into the tree that was behind it. He was fine, but the truck was ruined. It got towed to the closest town - over two hours away - for repairs, and wouldn't be ready for a few more days. Leaving the three of them stuck right where they were._

_Dean insisted yesterday when the temperature dropped, that they drive into town and find some place that at least has some decent heating. Sammy fought his suggestion, insisting that he was fine, but Dad agreed that they should head out in the morning._ _What they all forgot for one fucking second was that they were Winchesters and nothing ever went their way. True to their family's nature, their plans went to shit, when they woke up in the morning to blowing snow and the impending threat of a big storm. The Impala, amazing as she was, was not fitted with snow tires and Dad seemed entirely certain that any effort to make it to town would result in them being stranded on the side of the road. A danger he could not risk on account of the lack of cell phone reception, because if they got caught in the storm and trapped in the car with no way to call for help, Sam could end up with permanently damaged hands._

_Once Dean was holding as much wood as he could possibly carry, he trekked back to the cabin, stomping up the porch steps and kicking at the front door. The creaky door opened, Sam pulling it wider to let him in._

" _Thanks." He muttered as he stomped straight to the small fireplace in the tiny living room. He added a log to the already burning fire and stacked the rest of them to the side. He stood up, about to go grab some more kindling, when his father marched past him._

" _I got it." He grumbled, pulling the door open and slamming it behind him, clearly not quite over their disagreement._

 _Dean released a sigh and kicked off his boots, making his way to the small kitchen. He was starving, hadn't had time to eat since waking up in the morning and seeing the snow blowing violently out the window._ _He_ _stepped into the kitchen, stopping to watch the kid who stood in front of the stove._ _Sam was finally starting to grow taller, but he looked as scrawny as ever standing there in Dean's sweatpants and sweater, which swallowed his entire frame. His shaggy hair was a mess of bedhead being constantly pushed from his face as he fussed over the food on the stove._

" _What you doing, Sammy?" He inquired in his approach._

" _Sam. How hard is it to say Sam?" The teen questioned in exasperation, sending a squinted glare over his shoulder._

" _Sam is easy. So is bitch, nerd, geek, loser…"_

" _Okay, I get it!" The younger boy grouched._

" _So, Saammy, what you making?" He asked, smiling at the look of aggravation he was given for dragging out his kid brother's favourite nickname._

" _Eggs." He answered simply, turning back to the stove._

" _Well, you're no Betty Crocker, but I guess eggs will do."_

" _Betty Crocker? Really, Dean?"_

" _Hey man, if you don't want to be compared to girls than you should probably cut your hair." He joked, messing up Sam's already dishevelled mop._ _Dean smirked as the teen tried to shrug him off, unable to fight back as he had both his hands busy with breakfast._

_Dean peeked over the boney shoulder to gauge how much longer he'd have to wait. He stared at the eggs on the frying pan, looking to Sam in confusion._

" _What are you doing?"_

" _Dean, we just went through this, I'm making eggs."_

" _No, I meant why are you making poached?"_

" _Cause you like poached." Sam replied simply._

" _Yeah, but you hate poached."_

" _Well now I don't."_

" _Oh really?" Dean asked in disbelief, knowing that last time Sam had to eat eggs that weren't scrambled he gagged on them and whined about how gross it was eating something so uncooked._

" _Yeah really. I think they are done, could you grab two plates."_

_Dean stalled for a little, squinting at his brother, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, before deciding just to go with it._

" _Sure. Only two?"_

_"Yup, Dad already ate."_

_Dean nodded in reply and grabbed a couple plates, placing them on the counter next to the stove. Sam dished three eggs on one and two on the other, pulling two pieces of bread from the toaster and placing one on each._ _They sat down on the small kitchen table, Sam setting the plate with more eggs in front of his big brother before taking a seat._ _Dean immediately dug in, satisfied with the perfectly cooked meal._

" _You are going to make a very good wife one day, little brother." He remarked as he chewed, being sure Sam caught a glimpse of the half-eaten food in his mouth._

" _Gross, Dean." The kid whined, scrunching his face up at the sight and looking back down at his plate and the untouched meal sitting atop it._

" _Why aren't you eating? Change your mind about liking poached?"_

" _No." Sam answered as he slowly picked up his fork and poked at the eggs._

" _A good way to show that you like the food is to eat it, Sam."_

" _I am!" He insisted, shoving a piece of egg into his mouth._

_The older boy continued to eat, intermittently sneaking glances at his little brother, hoping to get a clue as to why he was insisting on eating a breakfast Dean knew he disliked. He watched as Sam stabbed at the egg, bringing a forkful of food slowly to his mouth. The fork was shaking hard and Dean could tell the teen was making every effort to control his hand. As the filled utensil reached his mouth, it shook particularly hard and the egg toppled off, falling back onto the plate._

" _Damnit." Sam muttered, making another attempt to get the egg to his mouth._

" _Is it that bad, Sam?" He questioned quietly, watching as the fork vibrated in the small hand while the kid struggled to get the food into his mouth._

_Sam's face fell as the piece of egg toppled off the utensil for the second time._

" _That's why you are eating poached? You thought it'd be easier than scrambled?" Dean asked, finally putting it together in his head._

" _Yeah, some bright idea that was." Sam grumbled, staring down accusingly at his meal._

" _Where are the gloves I got you a couple weeks ago?"_

" _I can't eat with them." He bit out in frustration, the food falling for a third time. The teen watched the egg hit the plate before he threw his fork down after it._

_Dean flinched at the loud clatter made by the utensil colliding with the glass plate and the loud curse that followed. He was surprised by Sam's sudden outburst, he was usually a very level-headed kid, even when he was furious he rarely displayed it in such a manner – temper tantrums had always been more John and Dean's style._

" _Dude, relax. It's fine. I'll just make you a sandwich or something, alright?" The older boy reasoned._

" _No. I'll eat the eggs. I just…need a minute." Sam announced, shoving his hands into his sweater pocket._

" _Here, give them to me." Dean demanded, moving his chair around the table to sit next to Sam and reaching out for the troublesome appendages._

" _They aren't that bad, honestly. They are just being stubborn." Sam insisted._

" _Oh, so they are just trying to fit in with the rest of your body then?" Dean mused, smirking at his little brother's eye roll._

" _Come on, buddy, you know I can help. Give'm here." He instructed, reaching out again._

_Sam let out a long put-upon sigh before finally pulling his shaking hands from his pocket and placing them in the awaiting palms._

" _Fuck." Dean muttered as he began to rub, feeling the icy temperature of the limbs._ " _I was hoping it wouldn't be this bad this soon."_

" _It's not that bad, Dean."_

" _Yes, Sam, it is. Your fingers are frozen and your hands are practically white. Your circulation is already messed up and it's not even noon yet." He griped, rubbing faster to create more friction and heat._

" _You know they are the worst in the morning and at night." Sam explained logically._

" _I know, but with this storm coming, it's only going to get colder." The worried big brother bit his lip to stop his ranting, not wanting to display his fear too blatantly._

" _I'll be fine." The teen declared, in a tone that sounded as though he was both complaining about Dean's fussing and reassuring his concern. Only Sammy could whine and comfort simultaneously._

_The hours passed slowly. Their father spent most of his time at the kitchen table cleaning and polishing every single weapon that they carried in the Impala. Sam split his time between reading and watching Dean flip between the two channels that actually came in on the television. Besides channel flipping, the older boy spent the majority of his time glancing between his little brother and the window. He was keeping a constant watch on the weather; the harsher it became, the more concern grew._

_By dinner time the wind was blowing so hard Dean found himself questioning the stability of the cabin's foundation. Sam had given up reading, his hands not cooperating with him, and was covered in blankets as he watched TV. John was in the kitchen heating up beans on the stove for dinner as he continued to feed the fire._

_Sam had a difficult time with supper, his spoon shaking harder than his fork had and eventually he just tipped the bowl towards his mouth and slurped up the beans._

_A couple hours later the storm hadn't let up a bit, the wind blowing even harder than before as the snow piled up outside and the temperature continued to drop._ _It didn't matter how many times Dean tried to warm Sam's hands, they refused to stop shaking and any relief that was found was minimal and temporary._

_Dean pushed the couch as close to the fire as he could without setting it a flame and forced more blankets around his little brother. He could tell Sam, in his sixteen-year-old teenage independence, hated being fussed over, which he informed the older boy repeatedly; but even he, with his stubbornness and pride, allowed Dean to bundle him up and force hot chocolate and soup down his throat._

_Once nightfall hit Sam was shivering uncontrollable, his body desperate to generate warmth. No matter how many fucking layers Dean put on him, the kid just couldn't stop shaking._

" _Dean?" Sam called out between his chattering teeth._

" _Yeah, Sammy." He replied from the kitchen, placing another towel in the ancient microwave; warming it up so he could wrap it around his little brother._

" _Dean!?" Sam called out again, more urgency present in his voice._

" _What?" He answered, walking back into the main room and over to the couch._

_The kid just looked up at him from his swaddled position on the couch, his hands held out in front of him trembling intensely._

" _Shit." Dean cursed, dropping to his knees before his brother and taking the smaller hands in his own. They were freezing cold, but what concerned him the most was the discolouration of the limbs. Parts of his little brother's fingers were showing tinges of blue while the rest of his hands were chalk white._

" _What is it, Dean?" Their father called from the kitchen._

" _Sam's hands are getting bad. I need you to bring me the towel from the microwave."_

 _Seconds later John was at his side, handing him the warm fabric and watching as he wrapped it tightly around the frozen appendages._ _Dean cringed at Sam's cry as the warmth began to invade his skin._

" _It's okay, Sammy, it'll feel better soon." He consoled, climbing onto the couch, settling in behind his little brother and pulling him into his chest. It wasn't until Sam was nestled against him that he realized his entire body was shivering._

" _Awe kiddo, you should have told me you were this cold." Dean adjusted the blankets tighter around his shaking little brother._

" _I knew if I said anything you'd force us to cuddle." Sam stuttered out through chattering teeth._

" _Shut up, you love cuddling. Your octopus-limbs are all over me whenever we share a bed." Dean replied; his voice light but expression pinched in concern as he wrapped his arms around the small frame in front of him, attempting to warm it up._

" _Gawd, Dean." Sam moaned, pushing his body back closer to the older boy, seeking heat._

" _I'm here, buddy. You're going to be fine." He assured. his worry growing as Sam's head fell back against his collar bone; the teen's cooperative and vulnerable behaviour telling Dean how cold he really was._

" _Dean?" The intruding voice, soft as it was, startled him a little. He had forgotten he and Sam weren't alone._

"What _?" He responded, running his hands over Sam's chest and arms, hoping to generate heat._

" _What can I do?"_

_On an average day, that question would be shocking. First of all, John always knew what to do, and even if he didn't, he would seldom ask. Secondly, Dean had never heard his father sound so completely unsure. Those were things he would have noticed and been shocked by, had he not been so entirely focused on the trembling teenager in his arms._

" _Throw some more wood on the fire."_

_He watched as John did exactly as he asked, before moving to kneel beside the couch, awaiting his next order, but Dean hadn't one to give._

" _I'll go make some more hot chocolate." The hunter muttered, uncomfortable with the silence and eager to find something to do._

_Dean nodded in agreement, hugging Sam closer when his shivering became more severe._

_They stayed like that for hours and as Sam shook and vibrated violently in his arms, all Dean could think of was how he and John had failed him. He lay there with his little brother pulled against his chest, thinking about how he hadn't fought their father hard enough. He should have taken Sam and left the moment the weather grew colder. He should have insisted they stay in a heated hotel._

_Dean came up with more reasons to hate himself, listing off all the ways he had failed his little brother, stopping only when he felt Sam press his face against his chest and heard soft sobs._

" _Sam?" He asked, the urgency in his voice catching his father's attention, the older face mirroring Dean's concern as he made his way over to the couch._

" _Sammy? What's going on?" Dean questioned, lightly jostling the teen._

_Sam may have been emotional, and he was a hell of a lot more sensitive than the two other Winchesters combined, but Sam was no sissy. Regardless of how often Dean teased him about his girlie features or mannerisms, his little brother was one tough sonuvabitch. Dean had seen him stitched together with no pain meds so many times, without shedding more than a couple tears. Therefore, to have the kid sobbing into his shirt was more than unsettling, it was downright terrifying._

" _Sammy! Talk to me, kiddo." He urged, his voice cracking slightly as his fear pushed through._

" _Sorry." The teen stuttered._

" _There's nothing to be sorry for, buddy, just tell me what's wrong."_

" _My hands, De."_

_At his little brother's response, he began to gently untangle the damaged hands from the number of blankets wrapped around them. Once he pulled them out he was surprised to see little change; they were possibly a little colder than they had been a couple hours ago, with a tad more discolouration, but essentially, they appeared very much the same._

" _What's the matter with them?" John questioned, moving closer to see._

" _I think it's just the nerve pain from the cold." Dean ventured, trying to remember how the doctor had worded it._

" _What do you mean?"_

" _The doctor warned us about long-term aftereffects of the frostbite; extreme sensitivity to cold, stiffness, numbness, and pain." Dean listed off the symptoms like he was reading them out of a book._ _He had studied up on and learnt everything there was to know about severe frostbite, desperate to understand what he had allowed to happen to his little brother and how to help him._

" _Has he had the pain before?" The elder hunter inquired, slowly digesting the information as he watched Dean take Sam's hands and slide them up under his shirt, placing one under each armpit in an attempt to heat them._

" _No, that's the only aftereffect he hasn't had, until now. I don't think his hands have been this cold since-since it happened. So, I guess that maybe the pain sets in when they get too cold." Dean muttered, his anger for the situation coming out in his harsh tone._ " _I knew we should have left." He bit out, cutting his eyes to his father as he pulled Sam possessively up against his chest; Sam's cheek resting against his abdomen, his hands still tucked against Dean's skin, and his tears wetting his big brother's shirt as he bit back sobs._

_John had the sense not to respond to the comment; getting up and tending to the fire and then sitting in the chair across the room, watching them quietly._

_Sam released a sudden cry and flinched violently. Dean felt the cold hands spasm against his skin, figuring that a particularly intense flare of pain had gone through them. Perhaps the warming process caused the agony to momentarily escalate._

" _Fuck." Sam swore, half sobbing as he released the curse and curled up closer to the larger frame._

" _It's alright, Sammy. It will be okay. You're going to be just fine." Dean soothed, wrapping his arms around the kid who was practically laying in his lap, the slim body wracked with shivers as frozen hands sucked all the warmth out of Dean's armpits._

 _He continued to whisper useless assurances to his little brother as he held him close, willing the smaller body to take in his heat. It was cold, the middle of the night in a cabin without heat, but the fire was providing quite a bit of warmth. Unfortunately, it was not enough heat for someone prone to hypothermia and frostbite._ _It killed Dean to lay there all night, his independent brother shivering and crying in his lap as all his attempts to bring him heat failed miserably._

_Sam was half asleep when Dean felt his hands spasm and his entire body tense at the pain._

" _Dean." He cried, whimpering quietly after the outburst._

" _I'm here, Sammy. I promise it's going to get better soon, kiddo. Just hang on." He soothed, feeling tears sliding down his face as he tried to keep his voice from cracking._

 _As he felt Sam's body begin to relax again, his distress and helplessness became furry and rage. His jaw clenching as the anger flooded through his veins._ _Hearing his little brother's stuttered breathing even out as he seemed to be falling asleep, tears no longer leaking from under the closed eyelids, Dean lifted his eyes from Sam and directed them directly at his father._

 _John was watching them from where he sat in the chair, his entire body rigid. He had no doubt that if they had not been in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of a storm, the older man would have run off hours ago. Neither of them were good at seeing Sammy in pain, and while Dean would deal with it, doing what was necessary to make it better for his little brother, their dad would run from it, avoiding the source of his emotional distress entirely._ _Normally, he had sympathy for the older man, or understanding at the very least, but not tonight._

 _Tonight, his baby brother was shaking and sobbing because of their father. Sam was in such pain because he had entrusted him to their father and John had failed in so many ways. Dean would never forgive the hard-headed hunter for not taking care of Sam; and he would also never forgive himself for leaving his little brother in John's distracted care._ _They were both to blame for what happened to Sam, but Dean was trying his hardest to make up for it, doing everything he could to take care of the kid. John wasn't. He still had all of his focus on the hunt. They wouldn't have been in their current situation, if it wasn't for him and his obsession._

 _Dean glared accusingly at his dad, knowing if he didn't have a sleeping kid on his lap, he would have had words with the older man across the room._ _He expected his father to do what he always did when he focused angry blaming eyes on him. Dean figured he would avoid eye-contact or leave the room, but he didn't. The big brother's enraged and accusing stare was met with tear-filled eyes._ _Dean was taken aback by the raw emotion displayed on the hunter's face, his eyes watering as intense shame and sadness patterned his features. John was no longer avoiding the blame, but accepting it._ _Eventually, he tore his eyes from the older man, confused by what had happened but not allowing it to distract him from his number one priority, who was finally sleeping calmly and relatively shiver free against him._

_Dean brushed Sammy's shaggy hair from his forehead and wondered if he would ever see that look of shame on his father's face ever again. He supposed it didn't really matter, because whether or not he felt horrible for what he had done - the harm he allowed to befall his baby brother - it did not make it okay and remained unredeemable._

_Hurting Sammy would never be okay, whether it was directly or indirectly, intentionally or by accident, whether the offended party was apologetic or not; because some things just couldn't be forgiven._

_And bringing harm to someone as kind, honest, and selfless as his little brother, well that was one of those things._

_\----------------------------------------------------_

"Dean!"

"What?" He replied, trying to act as though he hadn't been startled out of his thoughts.

"You're doing it again." Sam whined.

"And what is it I'm doing, exactly?" He asked, knowing there could be any number of possibilities.

"You are staring, at my hands, again." Sam answered in exasperation.

"Was not." He argued, not even bothering to remove his eyes from the trembling limbs they were focused on. "Why do you keep clenching them? You in pain? Do you need your amitriptyline?" He questioned, immediately searching his pockets form the medicine.

Amitriptyline was the only medicine that worked for the pain Sam got in his hands, the absolute worst of the long-term aftereffects of his frostbite. A doctor prescribed it for him when he took Sam to the hospital after that horrible night in the cabin. It was one of the few times that Dad never once argued about a hospital visit or the price of the meds.

"No, Dean. I'm fine. I'm only clenching because you keep staring and it's making me uncomfortable. Besides, I don't even have any more amitriptyline, I never needed it living in California."

"Yeah well I picked some up after I dropped you off here-

"You said you were going to get a hotel room?"

"I did, after I picked up your meds."

"You still have my prescription?" Sam inquired, eyebrows raised.

"Well, duh." Dean responded casually, not wanting his brother to read into the fact that he had held on to it all the years he was away.

"Oh, gawd don't make it weird." He moaned as Sam stared at him with those puppy dog eyes of his. "All I'm saying is that I have your meds if you need them. And Sam, don't let it get bad, okay? You know they aren't as effective when you wait too long."

"I know, Dean. I remember." Sam stated quietly, visibly tensing as he was probably recalling all the times the pain had gotten out of hand.

"So, you ready to head out yet? I'm starving."

"You're always starving." The younger hunter commented with a smirk, slowly and shakily gathering together all his research.

"Well at least I'm not anorexic." He mumbled, helping to pile the papers.

"I'm not anorexic." Sam argued.

"Well people are going to think you are if you lose any more weight."

Sam shook his head in disagreement, rolling his eyes at his declaration.

"I'm serious! You need to get some fat on that skinny ass of yours or people are going to call child's services on me."

"Dean, they can't. I'm not a child." Sam responded in his signature I-can't-believe-my-brother-is-such-a-moron tone, standing with the information he required tucked under his arm.

"Yes, you are." Dean argued as they headed for the exit.

"Anyone over eighteen is no longer considered a child, legally speaking." Sam recited, pulling his gloves onto his shaking hands, shivering slightly as they stepped out into the cold air.

Dean stared at him, assessing the younger man carefully, wondering for the hundredth time today if there was any way he could convince him to leave this case for someone else, and choose one further south instead. He shook his head, knowing there was no way he could convince stubborn Sam to do such a thing.

"Anyone with a whiny bitchy tone of voice like yours, has to be a child." He shot back as they both slid into the Impala.

"You are such an idiot." Sam moaned.

"Well at least I'm not a child." Dean quipped with a smile, laughing at the bitch-face he received.

He turned the heat up in the car as they pulled out onto the road, wondering what look he was going to get from Sam when they pulled into the parking lot of a relatively nice hotel, very different from the dumpy places they usually stayed.

He knew he would hear about it. Sam would not be happy about him spending the extra money on a nicer place, but he would just have to suck it up; because he needed to stay warm, which meant a non-drafty, well-heated room, and those came at a price.

The price wasn't a problem for Dean, though, because there was no price he wouldn't pay for his little brother.

No price was too high when it was for Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm so sorry."

"Cut it out, Sammy. Just stitch me up already, man." Dean watched as Sam's face fell at the reminder of the slowly oozing cut on the back of his noggin. He felt long fingers gently manoeuvring his head, tilting it forward.

"Shit, Dean. I'm sorry."

"I swear to god, Sam, if I hear the word sorry one more time I will shave your head." He threatened, looking up at his apologetic little brother.

"Shave my head?" The younger man repeated with a disbelieving smirk.

"It's not like I've never messed with your hair before." Dean pointed out with a devious smile.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I definitely would."

Sam rolled his eyes and moved to stand behind the older boy, releasing a sigh as he began to gently probe the cut leaking blood down the back of his neck. Dean sat patiently as the wound was cleaned and swiftly disinfected before Sam carefully began to stitch it closed – Dean couldn't help wince as the needle pierced through his skin.

"Sor- my bad." The younger man muttered as he tried his best to be more careful.

"It's not your fault."

Dean's response was met with nothing but a frustrated huff.

"I'm serious, Sam. None of this is your fault."

"Yeah, whatever."

The elder hunter rolled his eyes, hating how his brother reverted to an angsty teenager whenever he was upset.

"Almost done." Sam reported, deftly finishing the last couple stitches and tying them off.

Dean resisted the urge to nod his head in response and threw a thumbs-up instead.

A quick moment later his cut was clean and neatly stitched. Dean would admit that he had greatly missed Sam's careful doctoring, while the dork had been away at school. It was much more difficult to patch himself up and John Winchester was far from gentle about it.

"Nicely done, Sammy." He praised as he cautiously traced along the injury.

"Don't touch it, Dean. You're going to mess up my work." Sam admonished, swatting the probing hand away.

"Yes, nurse."

Sam allowed a small smile to spread across his face for a second before returning to his more serious expression. "You should lie down and rest. I'll wake you in an hour."

"I know, wake me up and make me answer your stupid questions."

"I have to make sure there is no memory loss or damage, you know that."

"Oh please, I was out for like five seconds."

"Doesn't matter, Dean. You got a concussion."

"Fine, but this time don't ask me the date. Head wound or not, I never know the damn date."

"Stop whining and get some rest."

"I can't rest with you waking me up and interrogating me every hour."

"Then maybe you should stop getting concussions."

"Maybe you should have lit that bitch before she chucked a shovel at my head." Dean regretted the flippant remark the moment it fell from his mouth. He watched as Sam's face crumpled, shame draping across his features.

"Sam, I didn't mean-

"It's fine, Dean." The younger man dismissed, the quiet resignation in his tone adding to Dean's guilt. "Just get some rest. I'm going to grab some coffee."

Before Dean could plead his case, his brother was out the door.

"Great job, you fucking moron." He muttered to himself as he carefully laid down, not bothering to climb underneath the covers. He couldn't believe he had said that, like Sam wasn't feeling guilty enough. The kid had been trying to light the bones, but his fingers were too stiff and he was having trouble getting the lighter working. Right when Dean was about to help him out, the spirit had appeared and she was less than pleased to see the two hunters, so Dean distracted her. Next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to a concerned little brother crouching over him.

Sam has been drowning in guilt since the moment his older brother opened his eyes.

Dean couldn't fucking believe that he shoved what happened in his kid's face, how could he be such a dick?

The stiffness in Sam's fingers was a side-effect of the frostbite, he couldn't help it and he couldn't do anything to make it go away. Had Dean really been away from his little brother for so long that he forgot how sensitive he was about his hands and his inability to fully control them? Dean decided he would convince Sam that he didn't mean what he had said as soon as he woke him up for his first hourly quiz.

As he laid in bed, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head and wishing his brother wasn't so serious about concussions and would let him have some damn pain killers; his mind wandered, sucking him into a memory from a day years ago, a day that was much like this one.

\------------------------------------------------------

" _I'm sorry."_

_Dean cringed at the desperate plea in his little brother's voice. It amazed him how a kid of eighteen could sound so incredibly young._

" _For the last time, Sam, it's not your fault." He insisted, unable to understand why his straight-A little brother was unable to grasp such a simple concept._

" _It is. I should have loaded the shotgun faster!" Sam argued as he added another pillow to the stack underneath Dean's arm, fussing with it until it was resting comfortably._

" _You couldn't! Your hands were shaking like crazy and even if you got the thing loaded, you probably wouldn't have been able to shoot straight."_

" _I was supposed to have your back and I screwed up! It's my fault you got thrown and now your shoulder is all messed up."_

" _Dude, my shoulder is fine. It got dislocated is all. Dad already popped it back in, I'll be able to arm wrestle you by tomorrow." He assured with a wink, looking to relieve his little brother of the guilt he was holding onto. "Besides, it's my own fault."_

" _No it's not."_

" _Yeah, it is. I noticed that it was getting colder and I knew you didn't have your gloves. I should have sent you back to the car."_

" _I wouldn't have gone." Sam stated simply, looking directly into the older boy's eyes for the first time since that spirit had chucked him across the graveyard. The teen quickly looked away, his body vibrating with anger; an emotion Dean could tell Sam was aiming wholly towards himself._

 _They heard the motel door being unlocked and both looked up from where they were sitting across from each other on the bed. John entered the room loudly, a bag of food in his arms as he looked over at his sons, his eyes full of accusation. Dean watched as Sam visibly shrunk beneath the stare, his posture emitting a strong sense of shame. The older boy felt a familiar anger rising in his gut; nobody was allowed to make his little brother feel like dirt,_ _**nobody** _ _._

" _Grabbed some burgers from down the street." Their father announced gruffly, dropping the bag of food unceremoniously onto the rickety kitchen table._

_Dean watched as Sam cautiously made his way over to the table, moving like a deer that was being watched by a hunter, weary and ready to run. Dean hated that their dad had the power to make Sam feel so nervous and insecure. The kid pulled a burger out of the bag and brought it over to his big brother, setting it on a napkin within his reach and then quietly taking a seat next to him._

" _You didn't get yours." He reminded the younger boy._

" _I'm not really hungry." He responded softly._

" _Well it would have been nice to know that before I bought dinner." The bitter tone came from their father, who was seated at the table, glaring at his youngest son._

" _I didn't know you were getting food, I'm sorry." Sam insisted._

" _You've been saying that a lot lately."_

 _Dean whipped his head up from his burger at the harsh comment, his anger rising as he watched his little brother practically disappear into his sweater, shrinking away in shame. Dean's jaw was clenched in rage as he stared down the gruff man sitting at the table._ _It was apparent how guilty Sam felt by his reaction to their old man, normally the teen would argue or fight with John about who was to blame, but instead he was resigning himself to the guilt, and that was unacceptable._

" _Hey Sam." He called with a tone as soft as he could manage. "Could you go grab me a soda?"_

_The kid looked up at Dean through his bangs, his slim frame hunched over and curled in on itself so much that he looked no more than twelve. Sam didn't dare speak, perhaps he didn't trust his voice - because Dean could see the moisture building in the hazel eyes - or perhaps he was afraid that any words that left his mouth might be thrown right back in his face. The kid nodded and quickly got up from the bed, silently exiting the tense room._

" _What the hell is your problem?" Dean barked, the burger in his hand tossed aside as he straightened up, hiding the wince from the pull on his shoulder._

" _What are you talking about?" John responded, avoiding his eyes as he chewed his food._

" _Cut the bullshit. You have been on Sam's case all night."_

" _I've hardly said anything to the kid."_

" _You don't have to say anything. You think I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at him, and the stupid little comments you keep making?" He argued, his body wanting to walk over and approach his father, but his mind knowing that he wouldn't be able to do that without showing pain in his shoulder and there was no way to win an argument with John Winchester by displaying any sign of weakness._

" _He almost got you killed, Dean."_

" _What the fuck is wrong with everyone?" He shouted in aggravation. "It wasn't his fault!"_

" _If he had loaded the gun faster that bitch wouldn't have gotten to you."_

" _If you had burned the bones quicker none of this would have happened."_

" _Don't be stupid, Dean. You know you can't dig a grave up that fast."_

" _I'm not being stupid, if I hadn't decided to play bait this wouldn't have happened."_

" _That's bullshit and you know it. We all had jobs to do and your brother failed his." John hollered, standing up and stalking towards Dean in anger. The wounded man hated his disadvantage, but he remained in his seated position and sent a dark look up to his dad._

" _Don't ever blame him for his messed-up hands. You did that to him! And I swear that if you ever make him feel like shit again, I will tear you apart." He seethed, his lethal tone making his father's eyebrows raise just a little. John knew this tone; it was the one Dean used to threaten any human or supernatural bastard that hurt his little brother._

_John still looked furious and Dean could tell he was about to say something, but wisely the man actually shut his mouth, turning abruptly and marching from the room, slamming the motel door closed as he left. The younger released a tired sigh and leaned back against the headboard._

_The door clicked open seconds later and Sam quietly entered the room, eyes down and movements slow. He walked over and placed a can of soda at the bedside table, his hair covering his features, shielding his emotions._

" _Thanks, buddy." Dean said with an easy smile. "Grab your burger and come sit."_

" _Not hungry." Came the simple reply._

" _Sammy." He waited until his little brother looked down at him, the large eyes full of despair._ " _This is not your fault." He stated, pronouncing each word slowly and dramatically._

_Sam appeared unconvinced, so his brother continued._

_"Shit happens, alright? We get injured all the time on the job. And I don't give a shit what Dad says, this wasn't anybody's fault, it sure as hell wasn't yours. Next time we will just be more careful."_

_There was a pause. Dean could tell Sam was going over his words in his head, looking for a flaw in his argument, and whether he didn't find one or he simply decided to drop that matter, he slowly nodded his head in agreement._

" _Okay, Dean."_

" _Good, now go grab your burger and then hand me the remote, because I'm sick of playing therapist." He ordered with a smirk._

_Sam gave me a small dimply smile and did as requested._

" _I'm sorry." He heard his little brother mutter a moment later as he flipped through the channels._

" _What the hell, Sam?" Dean snapped, frustrated, because hadn't they_ _ **just**_ _gone through this?_

" _No, not about that. I'm sorry for making you fight with Dad. I know you hate that."_

_Dean was struck momentarily by the size of his kid's heart, always considerate and so perceptive, must have gotten that from their mom._

" _You didn't make me do anything, Sam. Regardless of what you believe, I have my own fucking brain and I make my own damn decisions. I have no problem telling Dad where to shove it when he's acting like a moron."_

" _I know, just…thanks for looking out for me." Sam said shyly, gazing at his big brother, letting him see the admiration shining through the hazel eyes._

_Dean smiled, remembering how Sam used to look at him like that all the time when he was a child. The older boy glanced away, overwhelmed with emotion, and continued to channel flip._

" _That's what big brothers are for, Sammy."_

_John came back late that night; he reeked of alcohol and collapsed into bed, passing out instantly._

_The matter was never brought up again, but only a few weeks later Sam headed off to school._

_\--------------------------------------------------------------_

Dean woke from the dreamlike memory suddenly, assuming Sam's call had pulled him from his sleep.

"My name is Dean, my little brother is a bitch, and I have no fucking clue what day it is." He recited, opening one eye when he didn't receive an exasperated response.

Not only had Sam not woken him up, he wasn't even in the room. Dean felt the panic rise in his chest; his thoughts going back to the memory that had been playing out in his head when he fell asleep.

The recollection of a day much like this one, a day that he always knew was a big part of why his little brother left for school - because the kid had felt like his family would be better off without him, safer without him around. That thought had Dean scrambling out of bed, because even the idea of Sam leaving again, twisted up his insides. His little brother was just the kind of person who would do something as stupid as leave, because his warped mind had him thinking Dean would be better off without him. Which was the furthest fucking thing from the truth.

"Sam?" He called out, as he clumsily stumbled to his feet, feeling his head spin as he gained his balance.

Dean made his way to the door, flinging it open. It was still dark out and his baby remained parked in front of the room, so if he had left, the kid couldn't have gotten far.

"Sam!" He shouted, wincing as the volume of his voice made his head pound. He stumbled around the corner and stopped in his tracks, staring wide eyed as he watched the younger man slam his fists repeatedly into a brick wall. It took the hunter less than a second to jump into action.

"Hey! Stop! What the hell are you doing?" He hollered as he pulled Sam back, placing himself in between his little brother and the object of his violence. He looked up at the tall kid before him, the shaggy hair pushed aside, revealing a tear-stained face.

"I'm sorry." Sam croaked, his voice wavering as he visibly struggled to control his raw emotion.

"I don't know what the hell you're apologizing for now, but I'm getting pretty fucking sick of hearing it." Dean snapped.

Naturally, Sam took his brother's aggravation entirely wrong, and ducked his head down as though he had been admonished in some way. Dean grabbed him by the elbow and pushed the long body in the direction he had come.

"Get your ass back in that room." He ordered. He was at the end of his rope; he had enough of Sam's guilt complex, enough of him taking the blame for every single shitty thing that happened in the world. He watched as Sam shuffled back into the hotel.

Sam was standing uneasily in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor, and Dean felt like he was looking at the eighteen-year-old boy he had been remembering.

"Sit." He demanded.

"But, Dean, I…"

"Sit. Down. Now." He bit out, waiting for his little brother to take a seat before pulling up a chair in front of him and sliding the first aid kit that was already set out on the table a bit closer. Dean tugged his brother's hands out from where he had them tucked into his sweater, shaking his head at their icy chill and releasing a soft sigh at the damage he could see. The kid's knuckles were torn up and bleeding. Dean checked each finger, slightly satisfied to find that none of them were broken. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, watching as he cleaned the large hands. Save for a low hiss when Dean disinfected a particularly nasty cut, his little brother didn't make a sound. Once both his hands were cleaned and bandaged Dean allowed the younger man to tuck them back into the pocket of his sweater and he sat back in his chair, staring at the taller boy.

"Would you like to explain to me what the hell you were doing?" He inquired, sounding harsher than he had originally intended.

"I'm sor…"

"Don't you dare! I don't want another apology. I want an explanation as to why you were outside in the cold pounding on a brick wall, instead of sitting here and waking me up every hour."

"Dean, you weren't even asleep for half an hour." Sam explained, looking over quizzically.

"Oh, well, that doesn't explain why you were going all Rambo on the wall."

"Pfft, cause you've have never punched an inanimate object before." He challenged.

"Not for no reason, professor."

"Professor?"

"Dude, when you use long words like that you're asking to be mocked."

"I was angry and I punched a wall. Let it go."

"Sure, because you're the king of letting things go." Dean snorted.

Sam shook his head and moved to sit heavily onto the edge of the bed, his head held in his bandaged hands; a position of defeat.

"Look, Sam." He started, taking a seat in the bed across from his, their knees almost touching. "I just want to know what's going on with you so I can fix it."

"You can't, Dean."

"Well why don't you let me know what it is and I'll decide whether or not I can fix it." He reasoned.

"It's my hands. They are messed up. If they aren't shaking they're stiff or in pain. I can't make them work right no matter how badly I want to. I can't protect you." Sam finished, looking up at his big brother with a helpless expression.

"Sam, you aren't supposed to protect me." Dean tried to explain.

"I'm supposed to have your back!"

"And you do."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm really great at it. We've only _just_ started hunting together again and I already got you hurt."

"Sam! You didn't get me hurt. How many times am I going to have to go through this? We have a dangerous job. We both get hurt all the time. It's no one's fault!" Dean felt like a broken fucking record.

Sam gave him a look of disbelief.

"Listen to me." The older man instructed, moving forward and placing his hands on the boney pair of knees, waiting to get his kid's full attention before he continued. "You are **not** a burden."

His brother rolled his eyes as he made to move away.

"No way, you've been begging for a chic-flick talk and now you're getting one." Dean declared, waiting for Sam to settle in and return his attention to his bossy big brother.

"You are not a burden, Sam. I mean it. You save my life all the time and you are the _only_ person I can trust to always have my back."

The young man released a sarcastic huff, but stopped short at the glare Dean sent him.

"I'm serious. And when I do get hurt, you patch me up, and you do a hell of a job of it."

That comment got Dean some genuine Sammy dimples - which had him feeling as though he had accomplished something tremendous.

"Sammy, you keep me sane and I, uuhh... I need you around, man, okay?" He finished uncomfortably.

Sam just looked at him for what seemed like forever, his puppy eyes searching Dean's green gaze, full of hope and seeking honestly.

"I mean it, little brother." Dean insisted, letting his kid brother see the truth in his eyes, hating the vulnerability he felt, but knowing that if that was what Sam needed, he could handle it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean." Sam replied, sounding both thankful and reassuring.

Now it was the older Winchester's turn to search for honesty. He saw the sincerity in Sam's eyes and felt a lump growing in his throat.

"Good." Was the only word he could manage, throwing a smile his little brother's way before awkwardly diverting his gaze. "So, if we are finished with this Dr Phil session, I could really use some shut-eye." He admitted with a tired smile, the pounding in his head growing too much for him to ignore any longer.

"Yeah, you should be resting." Sam stuttered, rubbing at his eyes as he stood.

Dean smirked as he lay back in bed, feeling sleep pull at him the second he closed his eyes. He was almost out when he felt Sam tugging at the blankets beneath him.

"It's getting cold." The younger man muttered as he covered his brother with the comforter.

Dean tried to hide his smile, knowing, but unwilling to admit how he missed having someone to look out for him. How the hell could Sam ever think that he was a burden?

"How are your hands?" He mumbled, cracking an eye open.

"I'm fine, Dean. Get some sleep. I'm going to grab some coffee."

"Is that code for, I'm going to go beat up another wall?" He inquired, eyebrow raised.

"No, smart-ass. It's code for, I have to stay up all night to keep your ass out of a coma so I'm going to need some coffee."

"Good. Wear your gloves, and don't get lost, or mugged, or kidnapped, or…"

"Go to sleep, Dean!" Sam ordered with a laugh, grabbing his gloves and slipping out the door.

Dean smiled at his success. Getting Sammy to laugh these days was no small feat. He knew that the kid still blamed himself, knew that he probably still saw himself as a burden, and while that aggravated Dean to no end; it was simply something he would have to work on.

As long as Sam was willing to stick around, they would work out the rest together, because that was what brothers did. They took the hand they were dealt, no matter how shitty, and they worked with it. They made it better.

Dean had missed having someone who always made it better.

He had missed his brother.

And now that he had him back, there was no way he was letting him go again.

Not ever.


	5. Chapter 5

"How's your head?"

"Just as fine as it was when you asked five minutes ago, Sam."

"Sorry for being concerned."

"Don't be sorry for being concerned, be sorry for being annoying."

Sam rolled his eye, shaking his head in frustration and looking down at his food.

"If you aren't going to eat the sandwich, why did you order it?"

"Because you said if I didn't order something you would shove a hamburger down my throat."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Dean mused with a smile.

"Did you forget?" Sam questioned seriously, looking over at him in concern.

"Good gawd, dude, my head is fine. There is nothing wrong with my memory. I make hundreds of threats a day. You can't expect him to remember every one of them." He smirked.

"But if you were having trouble remembering things, you would tell me. Right?" Sam inquired, his older brother's comment obviously having done nothing to ease the kid's concern.

"Yes, Sam. But just so you know, if I start calling you Nancy it has nothing to do with my memory. That'll just be me mocking you for being such an annoying girl."

"Thanks for the heads up." The younger man responded dryly.

Dean watched as his brother picked lazily at his sandwich, wishing he'd just eat the damn thing, gawd knows the kid could use some fattening up.

The older boy glanced down at the large slender hands, both bruised and bandaged from last night's boxing session with a brick wall. They were wrapped around a coffee cup, no doubt an attempt to warm them and perhaps put a momentary end to their constant tremble. Dean's gaze wandered up to his brother's face, taking in the deep dark rings beneath the hazel eyes, evidence of the fact he had stayed up the entire night keeping the injured man out of a coma. And suddenly, Dean was feeling a deeper sympathy and less irritation towards the kid.

"We should spend the day in town, go back to the room and grab some shuteye." He suggested casually, taking another big bite of his bacon and cheese hamburger.

"Are you tired?" Sam asked, his voice dripping with such sincerity that there was no doubt in Dean's mind if he had said yes, the worrywart would have made a bed for him right there on the booth.

"I'm fine. I thought you might be tired; seeing as how you were the one up all night."

"You're the one who got hurt, plus it's not like you had a great sleep with me waking you every hour."

"Well your interrogations were far from joyful, but I still got a pretty solid rest."

"They were hardly interrogations, Dean."

"Dude, you asked me to list the last five presidents, I don't even know who the president is now."

Sam rolled his eyes, something he seemed to be doing an awful lot of this morning.

"Well I was going to ask you the names of your last five girlfriends, but I didn't think you would be able recall that information, even without a concussion."

"You'd probably be right about that, but if you'd asked me their phone numbers, I would have had it covered." he smiled ruefully, enjoying the banter.

"Okay, what are their phone numbers?"

Dean stalled, surprised that Sam had called his bluff, and while he knew that he could probably get away with simply reciting a random string of numbers, he just wasn't that committed.

Sam snickered at the lack of reply and finally took a bite of his stupid sandwich.

"Alright fine, you win this round, Sammy." He surrendered, finishing off his burger and starting in on his fries.

"It's Sam. Maybe your memory is jacked."

"All I know is that Sammy is a bitchy kid with long girlie hair, and you fit that description perfectly." He grinned.

Sam huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

Dean ate all his fries and finished off his soda, (little brother declared it was too soon after his concussion for him to have a beer) in the time it took Sam to finish half his meal.

"Dude, how long does it take to eat a sandwich?" He complained.

"I told you I wasn't hungry. You're the one who wanted me to eat."

"Yeah, well I didn't know you would take all day about it, just bring the other half back to the room." He compromised, watching as Sam eyed the rest of his meal with moderate disdain.

"We already checked out of the hotel."

"Funny thing about hotels, Sam, is that you can always check back in."

"It costs money."

"I am aware of that. I just think that maybe you should get some actual rest before we leave town, but if you are going to be a bitch about it we can head out now and you can get some shuteye on the road."

"You're not driving." Sam stated sternly.

"Yes, I am."

"You have a concussion."

"That's where you're wrong, little brother. I _had_ a concussion."

"You have a headache."

"No."

"Yes, you do. I can tell because you have that squinty look."

"I don't have a squinty look."

"If I have a puppy dog look than you have a squinty look."

Dean could hardly argue with the reasoning and decided to let the argument die, sort of.

"So, what's your point?"

"My point is that the squinty look means you have a headache so there is no way you are driving. You just rest and I'll drive."

"A little headache isn't going to affect my driving ability. Besides I got a hell of a lot more sleep than you did last night, so if anybody is resting, it's you, kiddo."

"Well I'm not the one who got knocked unconscious last night or the one who was dizzy this morning."

"Oh please, I was out for like five seconds and I was not dizzy this morning."

"You almost fell over getting out of bed and you had to hold onto my arm all the way to the bathroom."

"Thanks for throwing that in my face." Dean snarled, not enjoying being reminded of his weaknesses.

"That's not- I didn't, shit." Sam ran his hand through his shaggy hair and released a long sigh, before continuing. "What I am trying to say is that you just got injured, you need some time to heal. So please, just let me drive."

Dean looked up at Sam, taking in his pleading expression. The kid sure knew how to end an argument.

"Fine. But I'm telling you now, if you get one scratch on my baby, I will slaughter you." He warned.

"No, you won't." Sam replied with a smirk.

"Don't bet on it, kid." The older man growled, knowing his threats were the only weapon he had, because they both knew that even if Sam completely totalled his car the most he would ever do is maybe clock the guy one…or two, and even then, he would pull the punches.

"Alright, let's get going." Sam announced, apparently filled with a whole new level of vigour now that he was getting to drive.

"You are not laying one finger on my girl until you finish your lunch, Sam." He instructed, in the most parental tone he could muster.

"Dude, I'm not six." Sam declared incredulously.

"No, but I'm still older. And I am the one with the keys, so eat your fricken sandwich." He ordered, pushing his plate closer towards him.

Sam rolled his eyes, acting exactly like the child he was claiming not to be. Dean smirked as the brat petulantly picked up the sandwich and took a bite, glaring at the hunter while he chewed.

"Good boy." Dean mocked happily.

In reply, the responsible adult across the table from him stuck out his tongue, giving the shorter man a nice view of the half-masticated food littering his mouth. Dean released a bark of laughter, smiling at his ridiculous little brother.

Sam's agreement to eat the rest of his lunch didn't mean that he was going to do it any faster. Dean went between watching Sam nibble away at his sandwich and staring at the waitress with the nice ass.

"Hey. Hey Dean!"

He snapped back to attention as a slice of tomato hit him in the face.

"Oh gross, come on, Sam." He griped, dropping the offending food onto his plate and wiping his face off with a napkin.

"Had to get your attention somehow, you horndog." Sam cackled with a grin.

"Why don't you ever just order your sandwich without the tomatoes?"

"Don't want to be a bother." Sam replied with a shrug.

"Oh yeah, cause chucking them at me isn't bothersome at all."

"Well I don't mind bothering you."

"Should you even be touching them? Won't you get hives or something?"

"No, I only get a reaction if I ingest them."

Dean knew that information of course, because he was the big brother, but he enjoyed messing with the kid. "Well you never had a problem eating spaghettios."

"That's because it has to be in high concentration, there's like no tomatoes in spaghettios." Sam sighed with a role of his eyes. "There's no real food at all in that stuff."

"I know, that's why I could only ever buy one kind of sauce when I made spaghetti. And even then, the first time I made it I was terrified."

"Really?" Sam inquired, sounding genuinely interested.

"Yeah, it was like a year after we found out you were allergic, which makes you about thirteen. Anyways, you were whining about how you couldn't eat anything."

"I couldn't. You were like a tyrant! You wouldn't let me have pizza or ketchup or-

"Yeah Sam, because you were allergic to _tomatoes_." Dean emphasized. At his brother's smirk, he continued.

"Anyways, I was getting pretty tired of your bitching so I looked into it, think I went to some walk-in-clinic and asked a doc about it."

"Really?"

Dean didn't know why Sam sounded surprised, but he simply nodded.

"And the doc said since your allergy was IgE-mediated-

"What?"

"It's like type one, minimal, I guess."

"I never knew that."

"You were a kid, there's a lot of shit you didn't know." He stated.

Sam quirked his head in what seemed like mild confusion, but he waited for Dean to continue.

"Basically, the doc I talked to said that you would be okay if you were only exposed to low doses of low concentration and then over time you would likely become desensitized. I mean, you wouldn't ever be able to bite into an actual tomato, but you should eventually be able to handle things with cooked tomato in them. So, that night I bought the sauce that had the lowest possible tomato concentration he could find and I made you spaghetti. I watched you like a hawk that entire meal, just waiting for you to go in anaphylactic shock or something."

"But if you knew I'd be fine, what were you so scared of?" Sam wondered in interest.

"I didn't know you'd be fine. The research I did suggested it, but I was only going off that and some random doctor in a clinic."

"You got trust issues, man." The younger man commented with a smile.

"Can you blame me?" He asked.

Sam nodded knowingly, as he finished the last bite of his sandwich. Dean grinned, pleased that story time had encouraged his little brother to eat the entirety of his lunch.

"Alright, your majesty, I'm done with his sandwich. Can we leave now?" He inquired playfully.

Dean was amused at the newest nickname. He and Sam always had to be creative when they were insulting the other for being parental, because when most people would say mom, they never could. Dad never worked out either, because the way he acted was far from parental. So they would say things like nanny, or nurse or find some other word when one of them was mocking the other for being a mother-hen.

"You sure you don't want to stick around for the day? Get some rest?" Dean tried one more time.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm good." Sam promised, sliding out of the booth and getting to his feet.

"If you say so, Sammy." Dean relented, dropping some cash on the table to cover their meal and following his little brother out of the diner.

"It's Sam." He mumbled, holding his hand out for the keys.

Dean dug them from his pocket, and just as he was about to drop them into his waiting palm he watched a tremor go through it. "Sam." He sighed, pulling the keys back a little.

"It's just the tremors, I swear. It's not even that bad."

Dean looked at his brother, unsure, worried that holding a cold steering wheel might not help him at all.

"Dean, please."

There was the tone, that stupid little brother tone.

"You'll tell me if it gets worse, and you'll tell me before it gets bad?"

"Yes, I promise." And when Sam Winchester made a promise, he meant it.

"Alright fine, but not a scratch!" He ordered, dropping the keys into the awaiting palm.

"Not a scratch." Sam repeated with a smile, full dimples and all, before walking eagerly towards the Impala.

"Sasquatch." Dean snickered, watching Sam readjusting the seat and mirrors.

"It's not my fault you're so short." He replied putting the key in the ignition, but paused before turning it.

"What's wrong?" Dean questioned, looking immediately at the kid's hands, but seeing nothing more than the usual tremor.

"I just…thanks, Dean." Sam said, turning in his seat to face the passenger side.

"Don't thank me yet kid, not until we get to wherever we are going without a _scratch_." Dean emphasized the last word more for the sake of annoyance than insistence.

"Not just for letting me drive, but for having my back."

"Um, okay, that's sort of what we do." Dean replied in confusion.

"I know, it's just, you've always looked out for me, taken care of me. Even when..." Sam faded off, searching for his words.

"Even when, what?" Dean prompted, not really sure where this conversation was headed.

"When my hands got all messed up…"

He watched Sam wringing his hands as he spoke, curious about what he was trying to tell say, but patiently waiting for him to get his thoughts organized.

"When my hands got all messed up you watched out for me, you did so much research. Dude, you knew more about what was wrong and what to do than I did." Sam said; his eyes wide and expression serious. "You always knew what to do to help and you were so- you were always…you were just there."

Dean nodded, showing he understood, but waiting to see if there was more to be said.

"I mean, you have always looked after me, but I think I noticed it the most with my hands. And I guess, a part of me knew it was just you being big brother, but also another part of me thought that maybe you were doing some of it out of guilt."

"Sam-

"Just- just let me say this, okay?"

Dean reluctantly agreed.

"I know that it's not your fault, but I also _know you_ , and I know that even though you couldn't have prevented it - you have still found a way to blame yourself."

Dean shook his head instinctively, wanting to correct Sam and tell him that he could have and should have prevented it, but the younger man continued before he had the chance to interrupt again.

"So, I always thought that part of the reason you were so careful and so protective was because you felt that the damage done was somehow partially your doing. But with what you told me about my allergy, and how you researched and went to all that effort to make it better and take care of me. I just, I know that it wasn't out of guilt. Because even you, someone who can always seem to find a way to blame yourself for anything bad that happens - especially anything bad that happens to me - even you can't cook up a way to feel guilty about an allergy. What I am trying to say is thank you for always looking out for me, even when you don't have to and even when I don't deserve it." Sam finished, timidly hiding behind his hair as he continued to awkwardly wring his hands.

"You finished?" Dean asked bluntly.

"Yes." Sam said, glancing up with a questioning look.

"Alright kid, let me set you straight. I take care of you no matter what. Whether what happened to you was my fault, or dad's, or your own, or some fugly monster. Because you are my little brother. And hell yeah, I could have done more to save your hands from getting frostbitten-

"No, Dean-

"My turn." He stated, putting his hand up to stop his little brother's predictable speech of how he was not to blame for anything ever. "But whether I am to blame or not, that has nothing to do with me taking care of you. And Sam, you are the most deserving person I know. You are my kid brother, and that alone gives you every right to be protected."

Sam rolled his eyes, but stopped when his hazel eyes met the green pair.

"It's not a one-way street, Sammy. I watch your back and you watch mine. We are brother's, that is what we do. I don't need you to thank me for doing my job and I sure as hell don't want you thinking that you don't deserve to have someone looking out for you, because that's bullshit."

"That's not how I see it." Sam muttered, staring absently out the front windshield.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Dean was frustrated. It was all so simple, so clear to him, but with Sam everything was difficult and complicated. He knew this kid, practically raised him; some days he felt like he knew Sam better than himself, and on others, well on others he found himself fighting to understand the boy at all; wishing he could climb inside that big complex mind and figure out what was going on.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." Sam dismissed, turning the key.

"Sam-

"Dean, it's fine. Just get some rest."

Dean shook his head at the role reversal. Since when did his little brother avoid chick-flick moments and give him orders, all while driving his car? He let it slide though – just for today, because his head was pounding and he didn't feel like having an argument, but he had no intention of dropping the matter permanently.

"We are going to talk about what's got your panties in a wad later." He declared, making sure Sam knew he was not letting this slide.

The brat ignored him, diligently watching the road.

"I mean it." He shook his head when he still didn't receive any response, turning to face the window and reluctantly closing his eyes, allowing his exhaustion and the pounding in his skull to take over.

When he woke, it was dark and they were driving down the interstate.

"Dean." Sam called, the reason he had awoken in the first place.

"What Sammy?" He asked groggily, sitting up and looking toward his brother.

"Can you take the wheel?" The question had him confused.

"What?" He muttered.

"I need you to take the wheel." The tone was level and controlled, and to most people it would not have been the least bit concerning, but it was too Dean; because the control was being used to mask the panic he could sense hiding beneath.

"What's going on?" Dean was instantly alert, looking for the danger.

"Just please take the wheel?" The panic was breaking through to the surface now, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flashed to the passenger side in fear.

"I got it, little brother." Dean assured, reaching over and getting a firm grip on the steering wheel, looking at Sam, searching for some hint that would explain what was happening.

"You got it?" The younger man asked, voice wavering.

"Yeah, buddy, I got it." Dean soothed.

Sam waited a moment before releasing the wheel, slowly detaching his hands and dropping them to his lap, releasing a long shaky breath.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, awkwardly manoeuvring the Impala into the right lane, preparing to take the next exit.

"It's the numbness." Sam stated miserably.

"Okay." The older man replied, directing them off the highway and pulling into the first parking lot he saw.

The numbness wasn't new, but it was the rarest of the frostbite aftereffects.

Dean had been worried back when he learned that Sam might have permanently lost the feeling in parts of his hands. The doctors had mentioned they thought it was likely the majority of his fingers would be completely numb due to the nerve damage. So, when Sam woke up and they found out that he wasn't experiencing any numbness at all, the older boy was so happy that he never really cared when they warned them about the likelihood that Sam's hands would lose feeling from time to time.

It didn't happen often, probably less than twelve times since the incident. But when it did occur, it was often without warning. One second the kid would be fine, and the next he couldn't feel most of his fingers. Usually it wasn't a big deal. Sam would just have to put the book down for a couple hours, or get out of digging up a grave, but sometimes - one occasion in particular - the numbness arrived at the worst possible moment.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

" _Everybody know the plan?"_

" _Yes Dad, for the eighteenth time, we've got the plan."_

" _A simple 'yes sir' would do, Sam. I don't need the attitude." John responded gruffly, climbing into his truck._

" _Whatever." The teen muttered, dropping into the passenger seat of the Impala._

" _Alright, good talk." Dean said to himself, watching their dad pull out of the motel parking lot and head in the direction of the hunt._ _With a long sigh, he climbed into the Impala, glancing over at his shaggy headed little brother as he followed the truck._

" _You alright?" he asked casually._

" _I'm fine." Sam replied simply, without removing his gaze from the side window._

_Not being able to see his face made it nearly impossible for Dean to confirm the truth of that statement._

" _Your hands okay?"_

" _Yeah." The teen replied, glancing down at his gloved appendages._

" _Just let me know if they get worse. The wind is pretty chilly and it's only going to get colder the later it gets." He reminded, frustrated that the weather had gotten so cool so quickly._

_Dean had hoped to be out of Ohio before the fall weather hit, he thought he had some time, but October had crept up on them too quickly. He had already told John that this was the last hunt before they left town and headed further south. He knew the elder hunter had been itching to argue, but he wasn't having it. It had been less than a year since Sam got frostbite and Dean sure as hell wasn't taking any risks._

" _I'm going to have to take these off to make the shot." Sam thought aloud._

" _Yeah, I know." Dean sighed reluctantly; wishing he had been more prepared and had time to get Sam gloves that had a good grip._

" _I'll be fine, Dean. It's not even that cold."_

_The older boy glanced over at Sam and rolled his eyes, because of course the kid was trying to reassure him._

" _It's the wind I'm worried about." He announced, listening to it whistling outside of the car._

" _They aren't even shaking yet." Sam reasoned._

" _I'm just trying to keep it that way."_

" _I'll be fine." His little brother sounded as though he was trying to convince both of them with that one short declaration._

" _I know you will, Sammy." Dean confirmed with false confidence._

_The teen nodded distractedly, not even bothering to correct the version of his name he now seemed to detest._

_When they arrived at the latest hunting ground, which of course was a sketchy forested area, they climbed from the car. It was almost dark, which was good because that is the only time that werewolves made their appearance, but the wind was already much chillier than it had been just a short while ago._

_The plan had already been set out, Dad and Dean would lure the creature into the trap. He would play bait and bring the werewolf out of his hiding place, where Dad was positioned to take it out. Sam was back up, in the case that the creature got past John, the young teen would be in the perfect position to take it out with nothing more than one silver bullet._

_Dean never minded playing bait. It made sense. John was the best shot and the best fighter, so it was always better for him to be on the attack. And there was no way in hell he was ever going to allow Sammy to play bait, plus the kid was great backup._

_Dean was standing in position, ready to run when he heard the slightest sound. Werewolves may not be the fastest of the supernatural fuglies, but they were still a hell of a lot quicker than humans. Dad had it pinned to be coming at them from the north. That's where he was positioned, so he could put a bullet in it before it came after his eldest son. In the case that one wasn't enough Dean would have time to run and then Sam, who was positioned to the south, would be able to take the son of a bitch down._

_Dean waited, facing the direction the monster was predicted to emerge from, hoping that their dad would be able to take it out before it made a run for him, but ready to book it if need be. In the event that something went wrong he had a gun tucked away, but it was a small caliber and he doubted silver bullets of that size would do more than injure the monster._ _He heard it before he saw it, but he knew instantly that it was already way closer to him then it was ever supposed to get. He looked over his shoulder, the bastard had come from the south and Dean was instantly worried about his little brother because there's no way the kid wouldn't have seen it and yet no shot had been heard._

_Dean knew he was screwed, this thing was too close and too fast, he wouldn't make it more than ten feet before the creature was on top of him. So, he did the only thing he could do, and slowly reached for the glock tucked into the back of his jeans. The second he moved, he heard the werewolf's snarl and watched as it came closer, taking its time, as though it knew precisely how fucked he was._

" _Hey!"_

 _Both the Dean and the creature were surprised by the holler and instantly looked to see where it originated from._ _He was horrified to see Sammy standing less than fifteen feet behind the werewolf. He was waving his arms and calling out to the supernatural animal._

" _Come get me! I'm right here! Come on!" Sam shouted at the top of his lungs, kicking and jumping, flailing around and making a scene. Before Dean could do anything other than stare in shock, the werewolf took the bait and ran for his baby brother._

" _No!" He cried out, running after it. Pulling the weapon from his back and firing it, watching it hit the animal and yet it kept running without missing a step._

_It caught up to Sam in a second, its claws digging into the back of his leg and bringing him screaming to the ground. Dean unloaded the silver bullets into its supernatural being and watched as it fell heavily on top of the teen, Sam's small body disappearing beneath the massive creature._

" _Sam!" He yelled; kicking the monster off his kid, making sure it was dead before dropping to his knees beside the still form._

" _Sam."_

_He couldn't seem to get anything else out, just saying his name over and over as he looked down at him. The back of the teen's right leg was torn to shreds, but Dean had to make sure there was no other damage, paralysed at the thought that his little brother might have been bitten._

" _Sam."_

_It was a mantra that didn't end until he turned the kid over. The strangled cry of agony Sam released when Dean got him onto his back was a sound that he knew would haunt his dreams for years._

" _You're okay, buddy. I got you." He reassured softly, trying to convey a confidence he did not feel in the slightest._

" _Did you get it?" The question was bit out through gritted teeth._

" _Yeah Sammy, I got it." He responded, carefully checking his little brother over._

" _Just the leg."_

" _What?"_

" _He didn't bite, just got my leg." Sam groaned, staring up with eyes full of pain._

" _Alright good, that's good." he answered distractedly, shifting his attention to the kid's right leg. He carefully rolled the thin frame on its side, so he could get a better look, doing his best to ignore the pained gasps that filled the air._ _There was blood everywhere. Dean couldn't even tell where the wounds were because everything upwards of that boney knee was dark seeping red._

" _Dean."_

_He glanced up for only a second to see John's hurried approach._

" _The bastard's dead, but it got Sam." Dean updated in a tone as calm as he could manage._

" _Shit." John swore as he caught sight of his youngest son's leg._ " _He get bit?" He questioned in concern._

" _No, just this." He responded, carefully bulling back the strips of pant leg to get a better view of the damage beneath._

" _I need to get to him to a hospital, Dad." He declared after a quick examination._

" _That bad?" John asked quietly._

" _I can hardly see the damage past all the blood, but from what I can tell these wounds are deep." He whispered, careful to not let Sam hear._

" _Alright, you take him. I will clean this up. I'll meet you there."_

_Dean nodded in agreement with the plan, giving up on his examination of the bloody mangled mess. He ripped off his plaid shirt, hastily tying it around what seemed to be the source of most of the blood and cinched it as tight as possible, cringing when he heard Sam cry out._

" _Sorry, little brother." He apologized, moving up closer and putting a hand on the pale forehead, looking down at his kid, doing the best that he could to make Sam believe he wasn't completely terrified._

" _I'm going to carry you back to the Impala and we are going to get you all patched up." He conveyed the game plan to Sam, remembering all the times he had been injured and hated not knowing what was going on._

_Sam nodded, the trust Dean could see in his eyes as he stared up at him had his heart clenching._

" _I won't let anything happen to you, Sammy. You're going to be fine." He promised._

" _I know, De." The voice was soft and so trusting that it had the older boy choking back tears as he gently slid a hand underneath Sam's knee and another one around his back; as he carefully lifted the teen, he felt Sam shudder in pain._

" _Sorry." Dean whispered; pulling his kid into his chest, feeling the shaggy head fall to rest against his collarbone as the slim body slowly relaxed in his arms._

 _He nodded at John, who was dragging the werewolf further away, before heading quickly back to the car. He was careful to jostle Sam as little as possible as he raced to the Impala, desperate to get to safety; but no matter how gentle he tried to be, he knew that he was causing his baby brother an immense amount of pain and he could hear the soft cries and feel the tears soaking through his shirt. The older boy whispered meaningless promises and reassurances to the teen the entire journey._ _When they arrived at the Impala, he slid Sam cautiously onto the front seat, muttering apologies as the kid moaned in pain. Dean dropped into his seat, placing Sam's shaggy head carefully onto his lap before shoving the keys into the ignition and ripping down the road. Sam moaned as the speed made him lurch on the seat, Dean locked an arm around the thing chest to keep his little brother from moving._

" _I got you." He vowed, pressing the pedal to the floor and maintaining a firm grip on the small kid in his arms._

" _Why the hell did you do that?" He snapped a few moments later, not expecting a response._

" _My hands- hands went numb. Couldn't shoot…had to distract it…had to save you." Sam mumbled sleepily, his body clenching up in agony as they hit a bump in the road._

" _You shouldn't have done it." Dean choked out around the lump in his throat, tears streaming down his face; grateful that his little brother couldn't see them._

" _Had to." The wounded teen muttered._

" _Stay with me, Sammy." Dean ordered, smoothing hair away from the young face, checking to make sure the hazel eyes were still open._

_Dean felt Sam's response in the form of a nod against his leg._

_"That's my boy." He praised, knowing how much it was taking the kid to stay awake._

_By the time they pulled into the hospital, Sam's eyes were closed and the upholstery beneath him was soaked with blood. Dean desperately threw open the door and gently pulled the teen out behind him, lifting the thin frame into his arms and racing through the hospital doors._

_The hunter's voice cracked as he begged for help, laying Sam softly on the gurney that was rolled in front of him and unable to control his tears as he watched his kid being rushed away. He was ushered into an uncomfortable plastic chair with a clipboard and a pen shoved into his bloodied hands. He shakily filled out all the information required, describing the event as a wolf attack and having to rack his brain to remember their fraudulent insurance information. After he had handed back the clipboard and scrubbed his brother's blood from his hands, he began pacing around the waiting room. Dean was at the mercy of his imagination, thinking of everything he could have done to stop what happened, until John made a rushed entrance._

" _How is he?"_

" _I don't know. They wheeled him away a while ago and no one has come out to tell me what the hell is going on." He yelled in frustration._

" _We'll figure this out, Dean. Your brother is going to be okay."_

_It shouldn't have meant anything, the younger man knew it was as desperate and as meaningless as all the promises he had made to Sammy in the past couple hours, but damn if it didn't make him feel a little better, a little more confident._

_He simply nodded in agreement and went on pacing, as John sat heavily into a chair and they waited._

_They waited for what felt like hours, until finally someone called for the family of Sam Richardson._

_The report was a relief. The lacerations were deep, but there was no severe interior damage. Sam received a lot of stitches, both in the torn muscle as well as the skin and lost a lot of blood, but he would heal. The only lasting damage would be a few scars on the back of his right thigh._

_Dean was finally able to breathe when he was taken to Sam's room and saw him lying awake in his bed._

" _Hey there, squirt." He greeted, walking to stand by his head, combing his hair to the side with his fingers._

" _How you feeling, son?" Their dad questioned, walking to the other side of the bed._

" _I'm fine."_

_Dean knew it was a lie, but he let it slide; because he knew there was no way he was going to get the truth out of the kid while their old man was in the room. Sam was always pretending to be unbreakable around their father, and Dean wished John would realize that, but he knew that would probably never happen._

" _That's my boy."_

_Sam gave a wan smile._

" _Now does one of you want to tell me what the hell happened back there?"_

_Sam bit his lip and looked up at his big brother with a nervous expression._

" _The werewolf snuck up on us, it came from the south." Dean reported as he sent a frustrated glare toward the eldest Winchester._ " _You said you were sure it was going to come from the North." He accused._

" _That's where I had it pinned, but these sort of things are never guaranteed, Dean. You know that."_

_Dean hated the way his dad brushed it all off, as if it was no big deal. As if this one mistake didn't almost cost him one, or possibly both, of his sons._

_John watched him expectantly, waiting for him to continue relaying the course of events that lead them here._

" _It came up behind me. I was waiting for it to come out in front of me, so I didn't even notice that s.o.b. until it was practically breathing down my neck."_

" _It would have gone right passed you, why didn't you shoot it?" Their father asked, his attention turned to Sam now._

" _I, uh, I tried." The young teen responded timidly._

" _No, you didn't, I never heard a rifle shot." John said in a tone full of condemnation._

" _He couldn't, Dad. His hands went numb."_

_The hunter took in the new information, his expression thoughtful._

" _If it was breathing down your neck, how'd it end up getting your brother?" He asked quizzically._

" _I couldn't shoot it, couldn't get my hands to co-operate. So I followed it, and when I saw it going for Dean I knew that it was too close. He was reaching for his gun, but he wouldn't have been able to kill it before…" Sam faded off, likely not interested in describing exactly what would have happened to his big brother had he not taken action._

" _So, I distracted it. I was further from the wolf than Dean and I knew that if I could get it to come after me that would give him enough time to fire at it." Sam reasoned, looking nervously at the man staring down at him._

" _It turned and ran after him. I unloaded silver bullets into it at the exact moment it caught Sam with its claws." Dean finished; eager for this recap to be over so that he could stop reliving one of the most terrifying moments of his life._

_John looked between the two of us, his expression unreadable as he digested the information, and then he turned to look at his youngest child._

" _You did good, son. I'm proud of you."_

_Sam smiled with pride and Dean shook with rage._

_What the fuck did his dad think he was doing? He though it was acceptable that his little brother offered his life up on a fucking silver platter? He was encouraging that kind of moronic behaviour?_

_Dean was not having it._

" _Get out." He ordered darkly._

_The older hunter looked up at him with a face of confusion, but he was not going to elaborate in front of Sammy._

" _Get out_ _ **now**_ _." Dean seethed._

" _Dean?" Sam asked; bewilderment evident on his face._

" _Now." The older boy demanded, not bothering to look at Sam._

 _Their father stood abruptly and walked out of the room, stopping in the hall._ _Dean glanced over at his younger brother, looking up at him with a face full of questions._

" _Get some rest, Sammy. I'm just going to talk to Dad for a minute." He explained simply, hiding the anger he was saving for the man in the hallway._

" _What's going on?" The teen queried, always the inquisitive one._

" _Everything's fine." He dismissed, heading to the door._

" _Dean, come on."_

" _Not now, Sam." He barked, giving him a look that clearly said this matter was not up for discussion._

_He felt momentarily guilty as he watched his little brother sink back into the bed and he sent the kid an apologetic smile before exiting the room, closing the door firmly behind him and turning to the real object of his furry._

" _What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean's voice was low, but wrathful._

" _What are you talking about?" John asked._

" _You're proud of him? He did good? You think it's okay that the kid was going to_ **sacrifice** _himself?" He questioned in outrage._

" _He did what was necessary to watch your back." His dad reasoned._

" _Are you kidding me? How can you be okay with him offering himself up like that?" Dean was shocked._

_His entire life was a mantra of 'watch out for Sammy' and 'look after your little brother'. Placing Sam in any sort of danger was going against everything Dean had ever been told, going against the very core of his being, the purpose of his life._

" _Dean, calm down. Sam is fine. He saved his brother. We killed the werewolf. Just take the win and let it go, son."_

_Each word the hunter spoke was like another shovel of dirt burying Dean alive. He could not even begin to compute or understand how Sam behaving so recklessly was even the slightest bit okay, and there was no way in hell he could ever chalk this hunt up to being a 'success'. One look through the window at the young teen lying injured in that hospital bed was all the proof he needed to know that this hunt was pretty fucking far from a win._

" _You're losing it, man." Dean declared, turning back to face his father, who raised an eyebrow at the comment._

" _Watch what you say to me." Came the warning._

" _What happened tonight was not okay, and it sure as shit wasn't a win. And don't you dare make Sam think that in order to get your approval he has to behave like a reckless idiot, or a sacrifice." He stated irately._

" _You're the one always saying that I'm too hard on the kid, never giving him enough praise."_

" _You are. You're supposed to praise him on the good stuff. When he makes the shot, or does well in training, or nails his research, or does well in school. You do_ _ **not**_ _give him your approval for almost getting himself killed."_

_It baffled him that the older hunter did not understand the gravity of the situation. Sam spent his entire life striving for John's stamp of approval, and if this was how he got it…well Dean didn't even want to know what he would do to keep it._

" _What was I supposed to do, Dean? Lecture the boy?"_

" _No, you were supposed to tell him you're glad he is okay and you're sorry you fucked up. You are supposed to tell him that he should never behave so carelessly."_

" _He did what he had to do. He kept you alive. I can't reprimand him for that."_

" _Why not? What if next time the monster kills him? We are supposed to protect him, Dad. It's not supposed to be the other way around."_

" _We all look out for each other, Dean. That is how we survive. He didn't do anything you or I wouldn't have done."_

_Dean hated the calm way his father was explaining things. He hated how reasonable the hunter was being about this whole event, because there was not one smidge of reason in this shitstorm. He hated that John was right; that had the positions been switched both he and his Dad would do exactly what Sam did, or worse. He hated that his little brother was turning into them – a self-sacrificial, reckless, hunter with no sense of self-preservation. And he vowed right then to never ever let that happen._

" _I need to talk to my brother." He bit out, turning to the door._

" _Fine, I'll go grab a coffee."_

 _Dean nodded in appreciation and entered the small hospital room._ _Sam was looking up at him, both curiosity and exhaustion in control of his features._ _At least the kid waited for him to pull up a chair beside his bed and drop into it before bombarding him with his questions._

" _What's wrong? Why were you so pissed? Where's Dad? What'd you talk about? Why did you-"_

 _Dean put a hand up to end the constant stream of inquiries._ " _I need you to understand something." he started slowly, looking directly Sam, imploring him to listen and pay attention._ " _What you did tonight was unacceptable."_

" _But Dean-_

" _Listen, Sam. It's not that I'm not grateful. You saved my ass, little brother, and I know that."_

_Sam smiled in pride._

" _But what you did was reckless and stupid."_

_His face fell._

" _No matter what happens, not matter how much deep shit Dad or I am in, you don't ever,_ _ **ever**_ _offer yourself up like that."_

" _I didn't have a choice, if I didn't do something it would have gotten you." The teen explained with the horror of the possibility displayed in his eyes._

" _Maybe, but it did get you." Dean stated, glancing down at the kid's heavily bandaged leg._

" _It nicked me, it would have killed you."_

" _Nicked you? Have you seen how much of your blood is in my car?" Dean choked out incredulously._

" _Sorry about the Impala I…"_

" _The Impala? This isn't about the fucking car, Sam!"_

_The teen looked up at him, eyes wide with shock, in response to either what he said or at the volume of which he said it, or maybe a combination of the two._

" _You could have died, Sammy. You could have been impaled through the chest, or been bit, or bled out in my car…which is what almost happened."_

" _What was I supposed to do, Dean?" Sam tested, his tone frustrated._

" _You were supposed to let us handle it."_

" _Dad wasn't there! And anything you would have tried would have gotten you killed." He argued._

" _And what you did almost got_ _ **you**_ _killed. I can't focus on the hunt if I'm worried about you doing something stupid."_

" _Saving your ass is stupid?"_

" _No, offering your life up on a silver platter is stupid." Dean yelled._

" _So, what you're saying is that it's perfectly fine if you get killed saving me, but I'm not allowed to get killed saving you?" Sam pointed out._

" _No, that's not what I'm saying."_

" _That is_ _ **exactly**_ _what you're saying! You have gotten injured a hell of a lot worse saving my life, but that's okay because it's your job. But I get hurt saving yours, and that's unacceptable?" Sam's voice and face full of disbelief._

" _I'm older." Dean responded lamely._

" _Why do you think that you need me more than I need you?"_

_The question caught the older boy off guard, and his eyebrows climbed as he stared at his little brother._

" _Dean, I know that you're angry because I got hurt, and it makes you think about the worst-case scenario and what would happen if I had died."_

_Dean bit his lip, looking away, not understanding how the kid could read him so well._

" _I know that that scares you because you know you couldn't live without me."_

_He looked back at Sam, the younger voice was so quiet and understanding and the truth of his statement catching Dean's full attention._

" _I know that because that is exactly how I feel every single time you get hurt. And, Dean, I couldn't survive without you anymore than you could without me."_

_Dean glanced away, the emotion of the moment becoming too much._

" _You raised me, and you protect me, and you know me better than anyone. I couldn't make it without you." Tears were freely sliding down his little brother's face as he continued to speak through the catch in his voice._ " _I need you to understand that I need you with me, so if that means I have to fight to keep you here, then that's what I'm going to do."_

_Dean wiped the tears from his Sam's cheeks with his thumb, smoothing the unruly hair to the side and resting his hand on the pale forehead._

" _Got it?" Sam rasped softly._

" _Yeah Sammy, I got it." Dean replied around the lump in his throat._ " _Just please don't ever do anything like that again."_

" _I won't if I don't have to. Believe it or not, I would really rather not get eaten by a werewolf."_

_It was meant to be said with humour, but Dean found nothing funny in the scenario._

" _Besides, you're always there to save me." Sam replied simply, looking up at his brother with the trust, love, and the innocence of a child._

" _Damn straight." Dean croaked, not noticing the tears escaping from his eyes until Sam reached up and wiped them away gently with the tips of his fingers._

" _I don't like the numbness."_

_Dean realized Sam was talking about his hands as he stared down at them._

" _Still no feeling?" He asked in concern, knowing that it shouldn't last that long._

" _No, I can feel them now. I just hate that I never know when it's going to happen. The shaking I'm used to, and I know the pain comes when they get too cold, but I never know when I'm just going to lose the feeling in most of my fingers." Sam worried._

" _We'll deal with it, kiddo. This is only the second time it's ever happened, so at least they know it's not common."_

_Sam nodded in agreement, returning to Dean's. He looked tired, no doubt the emotional outburst costing him the little energy he had had left._

" _Get some rest, kiddo." Dean encouraged, pulling the blue hospital blanket up to the boy's chest._

" _You don't need to tuck me in, Dean. I'm not five." Sam whined petulantly._

" _No, you're not five. You're just a girl." He teased._

" _Hey, you cried too."_

" _You started it."_

" _I saved your ass." Sam reminded him, smirking as he closed his eyes._

" _You sure did, little brother. You sure did." Dean whispered softly, watching as Sam smiled before his breath evened out and he finally surrendered to the pull of sleep._

" _Never again, Sammy, never again." Dean swore quietly as he watched his kid sleeping peacefully._

_A part of him knew that it would probably happen again, was resigned to the reality of their lives, but the big brother in him refused to ever accept the idea that the most important person in his life could get hurt protecting him._

_Dean didn't deserve it._

_Didn't deserve to have a little brother like Sam._

_A little brother who depended on him, trusted him, and loved him with everything he had._

_A little brother who forgave all his failures, even when they came at the kid's own expense._

_A little brother who would lay down his life to save Dean's._

_It was both amazing and horrifying._

_There was no way in hell Dean was ever going to allow Sammy to sacrifice himself for him. He didn't care if that made him a hypocrite._

_He would do everything and anything to keep Sam safe, even if his brother would end up hating him for it._ _Because being hated by his kid was the second worst possible thing that could ever happen, beat only by losing Sam completely._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm really sorry."

The shorter man shook his head, attempting to physically shake the memory that had grabbed hold of him. They were parked in an empty parking lot, and it took less than a second for him to remember why.

"It's not your fault, Sam. You know that." He chided, angling to face his little brother.

"I could have gotten us both killed. I could have destroyed the Impala."

"Buddy, you can't control it. It's okay." Dean soothed.

"Two-way street my ass." Sam muttered.

"What?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing." The younger man mumbled as he fumbled with the door, struggling to open it with the couple fingers he could actually still feel.

"No, not nothing. What do you mean?"

"It's nothing." He growled in frustration, escaping from the vehicle the moment he managed to get the door open.

Dean released an irritated sigh and followed the long body out, coming to stand beside it at the hood. He waited patiently for Sam to tell him what he knew he wanted to hear.

The truth.

"You said it wasn't a one-way street." The young man started, making an effort to breathe calmly.

"Yeah." He recalled the previous conversation.

"But it is."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is!" He yelled out in aggravation, pushing off the car and moving to stand in front of his brother.

"You save my life constantly and what do I do? I get you knocked out and then I almost get us killed on the highway." He hollered, waving his arms around in anger. "Even when I'm trying to do something nice for you I almost get you killed."

He looked expectantly at Dean, waiting for his response and the older man knew his kid was hoping to be reprimanded.

Well, Sam was shit out of luck.

"October 15th, 1998."

Sam looked at him quizzically.

"You saved my ass by playing impromptu bait for a werewolf."

Comprehension dawned on Sam's face, but he still didn't seem to understand what Dean was getting at.

"Sam, we have both made mistakes and both almost gotten each other and ourselves killed, but we have both saved each other's backsides a hell of a lot more often."

"Oh please, you've saved mine way more than I've saved yours"

"Yeah, Sam, because I've had more opportunities. You're a trouble magnet, kiddo."

Sam snorted at the truth in the joking explanation.

"But whenever you have had the opportunity to save my ass, you have always done it, even when I didn't want you to."

Sam gave Dean a soft smile, moving to stand beside him and lean against his baby.

"You were pretty pissed."

Dean smirked in response.

"That was the first time I ever saw you order Dad around."

"Pfft. I didn't order him."

"Uh yeah ,Dean, you did. You ordered him right out of the room." Sam recalled with wonder.

"Yeah well, I had some things to say to him."

"Like what?" His brother inquired innocently.

"Wouldn't you love to know." Dean laughed.

The younger man rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious though, Sam." He stated, planting himself directly before his little brother, just as he had done a moment before.

"You save me plenty. And this shit with your hands, you can't help it. It's not your fault and I don't blame you, so don't blame yourself." He implored.

Sam looked at his brother from under his bangs, gratefulness shining out of his eyes as he examined his face. After a few seconds, he nodded in shy agreement and ducked his head back down again.

"How are your hands?" Dean asked, reaching for one.

"Can't feel most of my fingers." He sighed.

Dean could only imagine how aggravating that would be. Losing the feeling in your fingers without any warning whatsoever; temporary or not, that would suck.

"How long has it been since the last time this happened?" He asked as he casually felt around his little brother's hand, knowing that there was nothing he could do to bring the feeling back faster, but hating to be useless. So instead he checked over the cuts and scrapes around the boney knuckles, put there the night before.

"Over a year. Last time it happened I was trying to type up a paper." He muttered.

Dean nodded and letting the long fingers gently fall uselessly back down to Sam's side, before moving to stand hip to hip with the kid.

"I bet that pissed you off." He commented, knowing from experience that Sam despised it when his hands' refusal to co-operate affected his school work.

"Yeah, I probably would have chucked the entire computer if I had been able to." He replied with a hint of a smile.

"Instead you just sat there glaring at it." Dean described knowingly.

"Yeah, I remember Jess…uhh, she said I looked like I was pouting." He finished quietly.

With each snippet of information Dean was receiving about the young lady who had captured his brother's heart, his fondness for her was growing.

"Well, she was right. That's exactly what you were doing." He concurred, feeling satisfied at Sam's soft smile, but allowing the conversation to drop when he made no effort to reply.

They stood there for a few more moments, until he felt the cold wind biting through his jeans. He knew Sam's hands were still numb because he was making no effort to warm them up, but he also knew that that did not mean no damage was being done.

"Let's get going, sasquatch." He instructed, making his way to the passenger side door and opening it for his beanpole of a little brother.

"I can do it myself." Sam grumbled, marching past him and dropping into the seat.

"I know, buddy, but we don't have all night." Dean teased, laughing at the bitch face he received as he shut the door. He knew that if the brat could get his hands to work he would have thrown up a middle finger for added effect.

It amazed him that Sammy didn't realize how much he saved Dean.

How he saved him from living a life without meaning and without light.

How there were so many days Dean wouldn't have gotten out of bed if it wasn't for his kid.

How Sam saved him from the bitterness that took over their father.

How, just by needing him, the younger boy saved Dean from the all-encompassing grief of their mother's death.

How he saved him from the pain and fear of loneliness.

How Sam saved his sanity.

How he saved his soul.


	6. Chapter 6

"Where the hell are we going?"

Sam looked over at his brother, likely surprised by the abrupt question after a couple hours of relative silence.

"Uhh, well you're the one driving, Dean."

"Yeah, I'm driving the way you were heading before we pulled off." He stated accusingly.

Dean was met with nothing but silence. He sent a side-long glance towards Sam and the image of his little brother chewing on his bottom lip was a blatant sign of guilt.

"You want to let me know why the hell I'm driving _north_ , little brother?!" He asked, his voice rising by the minute, as he cursed himself for not noticing sooner.

"You are driving to a hunt, because we are hunters and that's what we do." Sam explained sarcastically.

"Cut the bullshit, kid." Dean snapped.

"You're driving to Minnesota."

"Like hell, we are." The second the words were muttered the Impala was directed onto the side of the road.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam hollered, hearing the car horn blaring behind them, someone expressing their displeasure towards the less-than-cautious driving.

Dean guided his girl to a stop and spun around to look at his stupid little brother.

"Missouri wasn't far north enough for you, Sam? You want to go to Minnesota now? How about even further? How about Canada? I'm sure there are some of possessed beavers we can hunt, and then maybe you can get hypothermia again. Or how about Alaska? We've never been to that state before! You can get frostbite _again_ and maybe if you're lucky you'll have to get every single one of your fucking fingers amputated. Would you be happy then?"

Sam stared at him with wide eyes and a small smile slowly spreading across his face.

"Possessed beavers?" He questioned, trying to hold back a laugh.

"You think this is funny? You think this is fucking joke?" Dean shouted, seeing no humour in the situation.

Sam's smile faded. "No, Dean, just listen—

"No, Sam. You listen. I have had it. This is not a joke. Your hands, your health, that is not a joke."

"Dean—

"No, shut up. I'm sick of being the only one who takes this seriously –

"Dean, I—

"Shut up! I mean, it's like you don't care. You don't care if you permanently destroy your hands or end up in the hospital with hypothermia. And I'm tired of being the only one who gives a shit."

"It's not—

"Shut. Up. Sam." Dean bit out as he climbed from the Impala, not wanting to sit through some lame-ass excuse and knowing he needed some space, before he throttled the stupid kid.

The air was cold and it was pitch black out, the only light coming from the stars and headlights of the vehicles that passed by every now and then. Dean took a handful of steps up the road and paced around angrily.

How could Sam not understand how serious this was? Why was it so bloody difficult for him to take care of himself? And it wasn't like this was new. The little brat was never careful when it came to his frostbite. Dean had always had to nag and harass him, forcing him into taking precautions.

And what did he get for it?

He got bitched at.

The older boy would like nothing more than to say screw-it, if the kid wanted to fuck up his hands that was his business; but he was a big brother and no matter how aggravating Sam got, he knew that he would always do whatever necessary to keep that kid safe and healthy, even if that meant having to turn into a naggy, bossy, nursemaid.

He didn't know why Sam didn't seem to give a shit about his health, but if he thought Dean was going to let him get away with being so careless, that brat had another thing coming. He never allowed it before, and he didn't care how much Sam thought he had grown-up, he wouldn't be allowing it now.

As he continued pacing back and forth in the dark on the side of the road, he thought of another time he had been brought to this same level of frustration due to his little brother's disregard for his own well-being.

\------------------------------------------------------

_It was late December and they were in a small town somewhere in Colorado. Dean had been pushing for them to head further south, but Sam insisted they have snow for Christmas. He wasn't thrilled, only caving when Sam had promised to take extra care of his hands - and the kid had pulled out those damn puppy dog eyes so of course his big brother had caved._

_Their dad was off on a hunt, like usual. He promised to be home by Christmas, but by now both boys knew to take those types of promises very lightly. For Sammy's sake, though, Dean really hoped John got his ass home on time. He knew the realistic part of his brother didn't expect it, but he also knew that secretly the teen was hoping for all three of them to spend the day together as a 'normal' family._

_Sam deserved a great Christmas, and that was what he was going to get, with or without John._

" _You sure you want to go to the library?" Dean asked the boy seated next to him as he drove the Impala across town._

" _Yes, Dean. For the third time." Sam responded with a long dramatic my-big-brother-is-so-damn-exhausting sigh._

" _But its Christmas break. School won't start up again for at least a couple weeks." And by then they will have moved on to another town – but Dean didn't vocalize that last part, knowing how much Sam hated moving around all the time and not wanting to remind him of it._

" _Yeah, well, it's not like I have anything better to do." The kid muttered, looking out the passenger side window and watching the snowflakes land on the glass. It was cold enough to snow, but not so cold that there would be any accumulation, thankfully._

" _Anything is better than spending all evening at the library."_

" _Like what? Spending the night just sitting around in the hotel?" Sam asked with a roll of his eyes._

" _Hey man, at least it's not a dump like the ones we normally stay at." Dean pointed out._

_He had talked their father into checking them into a nicer place, partly because he needed to know for sure that the heater would work so Sam didn't end up with hypothermia and partly because he wanted a decent place for his kid to spend Christmas._

" _Yeah, I know." Sam admitted softly, and Dean could feel the gratitude in the gentle look sent his way._ " _It's just nice to get out." The teen elaborated._

" _I get that. I just don't know why you want to 'get out' to the library of all places." He stated, and by the huff Sam released, Dean knew that his comment was taken as an insult rather than the simple confusion it was intended it to be._

" _Well, I'm not old enough to go to the bar." Sam bit out._

" _You could use—_

" _Those fake id's suck and they don't change the fact that I look like I'm twelve."_

_Dean snickered at the truth of the remark, because his entire life Sam had always looked young for his age, which was in great contrast to his elevated level of maturity._

" _So, you go hang out at the bar and I'll be at the library."_

_Dean glanced over at his little brother, not loving the edge he heard in his tone. It wasn't accusation necessarily, but there was something biting about it._

" _Hey man, you know I would take you if he could." He placated._

 _Sam released another long sigh, this one with a little less attitude._ " _I know."_

" _Your poker skills would put all those old men to shame."_

_Sam smiled, two small dimples making a brief appearance on his young face._

" _Seriously, dude, you sure that you want to go to the library?" Dean repeated, thinking there must be something better to do on a Friday night than go hang out at that stuffy place._

" _You got a better idea?" Sam grumbled._

" _I can take you back to the hotel, you can just relax, watch tv. It's warm and the room is pretty big—_

" _The hotel its great, Dean. Really, it's nice. Thanks for making Dad put us up there."_

_It was the older boy's turn to roll his eyes. He wasn't looking for a thank you, just an explanation._

" _If it's so great, why would you rather hang out at this crummy place." He argued, pulling the Impala up in front of the old building._

" _I…it gets lonely." Sam confessed, almost inaudibly._

_Dean didn't have an answer for that, nothing he could think to stay. He wanted to offer to stay in with the kid, but he needed the cash he would win tonight._

_The hotel was nice, which also made it more expensive. That and Christmas was coming and Dean needed money for a decent dinner and the present he wanted to get Sam. A new laptop, the kid needed it for school. The one they used for research was old and slow and sometimes their father would be on it or would take it with him on a hunt, which left Sam spending hours at the library trying to get all his homework done on computer even older and crappier. And while Dean was totally pumped to watch Sam's face when he opened his present, it was not a cheap gift._

" _Well maybe when we get home tonight we can see if there's some sort of cheesy Christmas movie on TV." He offered, trying to put a smile on the little nerd's face._

" _Really?" Sam queried, hazel eyes growing wide in anticipation._

" _Yeah, sure. Just give me a call when you're all finished geeking out over here and I'll come pick you up. I don't need to play more than a couple games tonight."_

" _You don't have to, I can—_

" _If you say the word 'walk' I will shave your head." Dean threatened._

_Sam sent him a smirk as he grabbed the backpack at his feet and made to open the door – the motion bringing Dean's attention to the teen's hands._

" _Where are your gloves?" He asked, watching as his brother's hand trembled when he placed it on the door handle._

_Sam froze, but made no move to look Dean's way or give any sort of reply._

" _Sam, where the hell are your gloves?" He questioned louder, grabbing the boney shoulder and pulling the smaller frame towards him._

" _Hotel room." He muttered._

" _Why?"_

" _Because I'm just going to the library, Dean. It's not like I can wear them when I read anyways." Sam whined in that aggravating teenager tone._

" _Come on man, you promised me that you'd be more careful."_

" _Dean, relax! It's fine! I'm going straight into the nice big warm library, I'm not going hiking." Sam argued._

" _Sam." He sighed, his frustration rising._

" _I don't need gloves to go inside to_ _ **read**_ _." His little brother replied, throwing his hands up in exasperation._

" _I don't give a shit, Sam! It's snowing outside. Wear your fucking gloves!"_

" _You're being completely unreasonable!"_

" _You're being a moron!"_

" _No, I'm just not being a spaz!"_

" _A spaz? You got_ _ **frostbite**_ _, I'm trying to make sure you don't lose your damn fingers."_

" _You are so dramatic."_

" _You heard what the doctor said. Your are more sensitive to the cold, your circulation sucks, it's easy for you to get hypothermia and if you're not careful you are going to permanently damage your hands!"_

" _I know!" Sam hollered._

" _Then why don't you have your fucking gloves on?" Dean asked, matching the young teen's volume._

" _Because I'm going to spend the night_ _inside, reading_ _!" Sam repeated._

" _It's snowing!"_

" _Outside! Not in the library."_

_Dean stared at the stubborn young man sitting across from him. He wasn't a moron, he knew that his kid had a point, knew that he was probably being overprotective, but he couldn't help it._

" _I'm not going back on my promise. I will be more careful."_

_Dean assessed Sam, watching as his face eased from anger to reassurance._

" _I'll be okay, Dean. I can take care of myself."_

_It wasn't stated petulantly, but rather gently, as a promise instead of an argument._

" _You go straight in there. You stay in there. You call me when you're done. And you wait in that building until I show up. You got that?" He instructed evenly._

" _Yes." Sam relented._

_The driver nodded his head, which the teen took as permission to get out of the Impala. Sam leaned back in and caught the green gaze a small dimply smile still on his face._

" _Stop worrying, Dean." He ordered softly before standing straight and closing the door._

" _Fat chance of that." He snorted, watching the skinny boy enter the library, trying to ignore the urge he had to drive back across town to get the gloves. He knew that even if he went to all the extra effort there was no way Sam would put them on, not after he went to such lengths to prove his point and gain some independence._

 _He would have to trust that Sam could take care of himself, which he found difficult._ _Don't get Dean wrong, Sam was smart and capable, and he would trust to take care of his big brother in a second, but the kid was not so good at looking after himself_

_Dean gritted his teeth as he drove over to the bar, attempting to quell the protective surge rising through me._

_A couple hours later he had won a decent chunk of cash - finally enough for that laptop - and he pulled out his phone. Unnerved that Sam hadn't called yet. It was going on 10:00 pm. He doubted that the library was still open and if it was it wouldn't be for much longer._ _He dialed Sammy as he made his way to the Impala._ _The phone rang more times than he was comfortable with, but to his relief his little brother picked up._

" _Dean."_

" _Hey Sammy, they kick you out of nerd-land yet?"_

_The lack of response caused his discomfort to return._

" _Sammy?" He asked._

" _I need you to come get me." The request was far from demanding, but soft…too soft._

" _Yeah, buddy. I'm on my way."_

" _I'm not at the library."_

_Dean stilled._

" _What?" He growled, anger sliding into his tone._

" _I…uhh, it closed an hour ago." Sam stuttered nervously._

" _So, where the hell are you?"_

" _I'm on main street, where the shops and stuff are. I'm in the corner store."_

 _Dean bit back the urge to bark out the number of questions he had bouncing around in his head._ " _I'm coming." Was all he said._

" _Thanks." Sam replied quietly before hanging up._

_Almost ten minutes later he was pulling up to the convenience store, he barely put the Impala in park before Sam was sliding into the passenger seat._

" _What the hell, man?" He blurted out in a mixture of anger, relief, and frustration._

" _I'm sorry."_

_If Dean hadn't been so aggravated, he would have immediately heard the slight tremble in the young man's voice._

" _How does promising to be careful involve a forty-five minute walk outside in the snow?"_

" _Dean, I'm sorry."_

" _And don't try and tell me it didn't take that long, because you walked half-way across town. You walked half-way back to the hotel, Sam."_

_This time he waited for a response and not getting one did nothing to ease his anger._

" _Nothing to say for yourself? No lame excuse for your late-night stroll?" He questioned bitterly, staring at the teen who refused to even glance his way._

" _Look at me, Sam!" He ordered._

 _Dean was expecting a glare or a bitch-face, with maybe a little bit of guilt. The look he received was much more disturbing._ _Sam raised his head, his eyes downcast and his face wet with tears._

" _Sammy? What's wrong?" He asked, grasping his brother's chin and angling it up so he could see him more clearly._ _Dean thumbed the falling tears from his cold face, sliding his bangs out of the way and staring intently into those big watery hazel eyes, his entire body coursing with the need to fix whatever was broken._

_Sam said nothing in return, but he dropped his gaze back down and slowly pulled his hands out of his coat-sleeves, where they had been hiding since he got into the car._

_Dean looked down._

" _Shit." He cursed, gently cradling the discoloured appendages in his hands._

_They were chalk white with a tinge of blue in spots, shaking violently, with the thin fingers curled in a claw-like position._

" _Jesus, Sammy." He swore as he gently attempted to relax his brother's hand and straighten his fingers._

_The strangled gasp that came from Sam stopped his actions immediately. And when he looked at his kid's face and saw the tears and pain, Dean made an instant decision._

" _Alright just don't move them." He instructed, hoping that Sam missed the small catch in his voice, fear and worry trying to take over._

_He pulled the Impala out of park and sped down the street._

" _Where are we going?" Sam asked shakily._

" _Clinic down the street."_

" _No! Dean, it's okay. I—_

" _No, Sam. We let you do it your way, and look what happened." He answered harshly, his fear pouring out of him as anger._ " _Now we are doing this my way. And I'm taking you to the damn clinic."_

_A few short minutes later they were pulling into the parking lot of the small clinic that was all there was to pass for medical care in this town. There had been no further conversation on the way there, only the sound of Sam trying desperately to hold back his tears and Dean grinding his teeth in concern._

" _Alright we're here, buddy." He announced softly, climbing from the car and rushing over to his brother's side, pulling open his door._

_Sam stared up at him from his seat, eyes shining with tears yet to be shed. He looked so small, so young, and so vulnerable._

" _Come on, kiddo." He encouraged._

_Sam bit his lip as he shook his head and stared down at his lap. Dean squatted down to try and get into the kid's line of sight._

" _Sam, we have to get your hands checked out." He reasoned, nodding towards the shaking, discoloured appendages resting in his brother's lap. "I can't fix those."_

" _It's going to hurt." Sam stuttered._

" _It might, but I'll be there. And the longer we wait the worse it will be." He reasoned cautiously, not wanting to frighten the hurting teen, but needing him to understand that time was of the essence._

" _You'll stay with me?" Sam asked timidly, his head rising, his gaze meeting Dean's for a quick second, before diverting in embarrassment._

" _I promise, Sammy." He reassured._

 _Sam studied his brother's face for the truth, before climbing from the vehicle with a long sigh._ _Sam held his hands out in front of him, clenched and trembling as they walked into the clinic. Dean kept a comforting hand resting on the back of his brother's neck as he led him to the front desk._

" _What can I- oh dear." The middle-aged woman exclaimed, popping up out her chair and rushing around the desk._ " _Oh, goodness, young man. That looks bad. I'm taking you to the exam room right away. Come with me, sweetheart." She rambled, ushering them to one of the back rooms._

_Damn, Dean loved small-town clinical service._

" _Now you just sit up here on the bed and Dr. Murphy should be in here any minute." The woman instructed, patting the bed and indicating that Sam should sit._

_Dean steadied the teen as he went to take a seat on the small hospital bed, seemingly simple things always more difficult without the use of your hands._

" _You good?" Dean inquired, as the slim frame shifted around uneasily on the stiff mattress. Sam nodded back at him, his face still creased in pain, but his eyes dry for the time being._

" _Alright, good. Now you just wait here, sweetie." The woman instructed smiling kindly at Sam. "I need you to come back with him and fill out some paperwork." She said, turning to the taller boy._

_Dean watched as Sam's head shot up, his wide gaze meeting the green one. Dean knew that if his brother could have, he probably would have wrapped those bony fingers around his wrist already. He gave Sam a reassuring smile, before turning his attention to the nurse._

" _If you could bring the paperwork in here, I'll fill it out no problem." He stated with a smile, returning his hand to rest on the back of his kid's neck, reassuring Sam that he wasn't going anywhere._

" _I'd prefer if you filled it out at my desk, it will only take a second."_

_Dean could feel Sam tensing under his hand, and he gently squeezed the nape of his neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth at the base of his skull._

" _I'm not leaving my brother." He stated strongly._

_The nurse looked between them for a couple seconds before nodding her head with an understanding smile._

" _I'll bring it right in."_

 _Dean nodded in appreciation and watched her hurry from the room._ _Then he looked back at his little brother in time to see his grateful expression before he stared back down at his hands._ _He_ _wanted to ask if the teen was in pain, but his posture, clenched jaw, and the lines littering his face, were all the answer he needed._ _Thankfully, he didn't have to come up with any sort of conversation, because the nurse returned with the paperwork._

" _Here you are…"_

" _Dean." He filled in for her, grabbing the clipboard and pen._

" _And you are?"_

" _That's Sam." He answered distractedly, trying to recall their latest insurance information._

" _How old are you, Sam?"_

" _Fifteen." He mumbled out before Dean could answer for him._

" _I am going to need a phone number for your guardian, sweetie. I have some things I need them to sign off on."_

_"I'm his guardian." Dean informed her, looking up from the endless amount of questions that he was answering._

" _I mean his legal guardian."_

" _Yeah, I'm his legal guardian." He insisted. He wasn't lying. The day he turned eighteen he had his Dad sign forms that he had drawn up, giving him shared custody of his little brother and it was moments just like this that he was glad he had done that._

_The nurse glanced from him to Sam and back again, seemingly unsure, and deciding whether she believed him or not._

" _Oh…okay." She said hesitantly, placing another paper on Dean's pile before leaving the room._

" _I don't think she believed you." Sam muttered, staring down at his hands._

" _She can believe whatever the hell she wants. I just wish that doc would get his ass in here." He declared, sparing a glance at his little brother's hands, before proceeding to sign all the forms._

_As if he heard him, the doctor entered the room._

" _Sam and Dean?" He asked, looking between them as he opened the door._

" _Yeah. You gotta take a look at the kid's hands, Doc." He insisted._

_The doctor clearly sensed the urgency in his tone and made his way immediately to his baby brother._

" _Alright, young man. Let's see what has got your big brother so worried."_

_Sam looked at the doctor quizzically, which he noticed._

" _I'm a big brother. And I know that look, and that tone, I've actually perfected it over the years." The older man stated kindly, while carefully examining the discoloured fingers that were still in a stiff claw-like position._

 _Sam smirked slightly at the doctor's comment, but any amusement was quickly wiped from his face as the man began straightening his fingers._ _Dean watched Sam's entire body go tense, the kid's jaw clenching as pain and fear filled his eyes; and the older boy's protective instincts surged._

" _What the hell, Doc? You're hurting him!" He snapped, stepping in between the two, forcing the man to take a couple steps away from his little brother._

" _It's okay, Dean." He heard Sam sigh behind him._ _He was about to tell Sam how very far from okay the entire situation was, but the doc spoke-up before he had the chance._

" _Dean, I was just trying to gauge how stiff his fingers were, but I can tell that they are very stiff and there is a lack of circulation."_

" _Frostbite?" He barked, needing answers._

" _No, but close."_

_Dean didn't know if he was relieved that frostbite was avoided, or terrified that they had come so close._

" _He's had it before?" The doc asked. Dean could tell that the other man was in fact an older brother by the fact that he addressed the question to him instead of Sam, and by the concern he saw on his face._

" _Yeah, last year. Third degree. it was bad. Almost had to get them amputated." He bit out, shuttering at the memory._

" _It wasn't that bad." Sam mumbled behind him._

" _Shut up, Sam." He ordered off-handedly._ " _So, how can you treat it?" He questioned, his full attention back on the doc…well most of his attention on the doc. Dean didn't think he'd ever been able to focus full attention on anything or anyone other than his little brother. Even when he tried concentrating on something different, Sam was occupying at least part of his mind. It had been that way since the little squirt was born._

" _I'm going to go grab some ointment and some heating pads, and we are going to use them to slowly bring Sam's hands back to temperature. He'll need to stay the night so I can be sure there's no further damage." The doctor explained._

_Dean nodded in understanding and watched as the older man left the room._

" _I'm sorry, Dean." Sam whispered, causing him to turn around and look at the young teen, his long hair hanging down in his face._

" _Sorry for what, Sam?" He questioned bluntly, but not unkindly._

_Sam chewed on his bottom lip – a nervous tick he had picked up when he was eight and never dropped -as he looked up at Dean, deep hazel eyes peeking through his bangs._

" _For making you spend your night in the hospital." He admitted softly._

" _I don't give a shit that we are spending the night here. I give a shit that my little brother lied to me."_

_Sam hung his head in shame, making no further attempt at conversation._

_Dean felt a stab of guilt watching the kid look so defeated, but he needed him to understand that what he did was not okay - putting himself in such a dire situation was never okay._

_The doc returned a moment later and got to work fixing the wounded teenager. Dean maintained an affirming hand on the back of Sam's neck, biting his tongue to keep from reaming the older man out every time his kid flinched in pain._

_Once Sam's hands were at a 'reasonable' temperature, Dr. Murphy applied some sort of ointment and wrapped them up for the night._

_Dean helped the kid change – glad he found a pair of Sam's sweatpants and one of his own hoodies in the backseat - as his mummified hands didn't do much for him, and then literally tucked him into bed._

_The doctor brought Dean in a chair, giving him a knowing look as he placed it right next to Sam's bed. That man was most definitely an older brother._

_Sam fell asleep shortly after he laid down, his wrapped-up hands laying on his stomach as his breathing evened out. The kid was emotionally and physically exhausted. Dean watched him rest, carding his hands through the shaggy hair whenever the kid started to get restless, and smiling when Sam calmed immediately at his touch._

" _Why'd you do it, Sammy? Huh? Why'd you lie to me, little brother?" He queried softly._

_Dean never got an answer. Had no desire to bring it up the next day after hearing that Sam's hands would be alright. They just went back to the hotel and he spent most of the day sleeping while Sam watched some TV, his hands still too shaky for him to do any reading or schoolwork._

_They spent Christmas alone in the hotel room that year._ _But it was good._ _Dean made sure to get some nice girly-Hawaiian pizza for his little brother and he watched the dork's face light up when he unwrapped his new laptop._

_Sam practically vibrated with excitement when he watched Dean open his gift, a set of Metallica cassette tapes that he had been trying to get his hands on for years._

_It was awesome._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------_

"What are you thinking about?"

Dean hid his surprise at Sam's sudden appearance, not having noticed that the kid had left the car and gotten so close.

"About that night when you were fifteen and you went for a forty-five minute walk in the Colorado winter without wearing your fucking gloves."

Sam was momentarily stunned by the honestly, if his silence was anything to go by.

"Guess nothing changes." Dean muttered as he turned and continued to pace.

"I don't think you really know what happened that night." Sam announced quietly, making the older man stop and turn to face him.

"What?"

"Do you remember what I got you for Christmas that year?" Sam questioned softly, hiding underneath all that hair.

"Hell yeah, man, Metallica! Still got those tapes." Dean replied with a grin.

Sam looked up at him, a small smile crossing his face. "You know how hard those were to find?"

"Yeah, I'd been trying to get a hold of them for years. You never told me how you snagged them."

"You remember the music store in Colorado? You went in there looking for them the first day we got to … whatever that little town was called."

Dean nodded his head.

"Well I went there the next day after school and talked to the guy working there. He said he knew a guy and could order the tapes, but it was going to take a few weeks for them to arrive."

"Is that why you were so adamant we stay for Christmas?" Dean wondered, things beginning to click.

Sam nodded. "I was worried they wouldn't get there in time, but that night at the library I got an email from the guy who worked at the store. He told me that the tapes came in and if I wanted them I had to get there before he closed up for the holidays." Sam explained.

Understanding dawned as the pieces fell into place. They stood there in silence, Sam shifting back and forth uneasily as the older man mulled over the new information, trying to decide between decking or hugging his stupid little brother.

"Why didn't you just ask me to drive you there?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"Come on, Dean. You would have wanted to know why. I wanted it to be a surprise." Sam sighed.

There was another long moment of silence, Dean's mind racing a hundred different directions, all leading back to the young man standing before him.

Shockingly enough, Sam actually had his gloves on. Dean smirked, knowing that the brat had only put them on so his big brother wouldn't bitch about it. He watched a hard shiver scatter through his little brother's tall body, registering how cold the air was as another vehicle raced past them.

"Well both of us standing out here freezing our asses off isn't going to help anything." He pointed out, turning his brother to face the Impala and nudging him in the direction of the car.

They climbed into the vehicle and Dean pulled the blanket out from under the back seat, tossing it on the kid's lap. Sam rolled his eyes, but unfolded the blanket and draped it over himself just the same.

"I loved the tapes. Still do." Dean began, staring intently at his little brother. "But you keeping all of your fingers is a hell of a lot more important to me."

Sam nodded in understanding, not necessarily agreement.

Dean pulled his baby back onto the road, heading in his least favourite direction. He could feel Sam's eyes on him as he drove, the unspoken question of why he was headed north, written clearly in his expression.

"I am trusting you to take your health more seriously. I'm trusting you to take better care of yourself." He stated clearly.

Sam nodded fervently in response.

"And Sam." He said, looking over at him. "You've got to tell me if it gets bad, alright? I don't care if that means we have to drop the hunt, we'll find someone else to take care of it. I'm not risking you. You got that?"

"I promise, Dean." Sam declared confidently.

"Good. Cause we've got work to do." He affirmed, turning his attention back to the road.

He saw Sam smiling in his peripherals.

"What?" He asked.

"Guess those possessed beavers in Canada will have to wait then, eh?"

Dean barked out an amused laugh. "Shut up, Bitch."

"Whatever, Jerk." Sam grinned, leaning back against the passenger door, pulling the blanket up further around him and directing his stare out the front windshield.

They drove in silence; Dean was hoping that Sam would fall asleep and get some much needed, nightmare-free rest.

He kept thinking about his stupid kid.

How he quite literally risked his fingers to pick Dean up a Christmas present.

Sometimes he was so focused on making things better for Sammy that he didn't realize how the kid worked just as hard to make things better for him.

Dean dug around in the tape box on the floor, finally finding what he was looking for and popping it in the player. Metallica played on a low volume, and he sent a side-long glance his little brother's way in time to see a small smile and two dimples appear on the young face.

The music relaxed the driver, eased the tension he was feeling as he drove north, but a small part of him still wanted to turn around, something had him feeling as though he was driving directly into danger.

Dean tried to ignore that feeling, assuring himself that Sam had promised to be more careful and be honest with him, and that he could take care of the kid.

He let Metallica calm his nerves as he stared out at the road ahead, knowing that Sammy and he could handle whatever came, because if Winchesters were anything, they were survivors.


	7. Chapter 7

"Terrific, Sam. This is fucking fantastic." Dean cursed, staring out the motel window, watching the hail fall from the sky and bounce off the ground.

"It'll be okay, Dean." Sam declared; an amused smile crossing his face before he returned his attention to the open laptop on the table.

"You know what hail does to my girl?" He growled back, hating on every single ice pellet that hit his baby.

"The Impala will be fine." Sam sighed in exasperation.

"That crap could crack the windshield, it'll probably—

"Chip the paint." His brother recited with him in unison.

Dean tore his eyes from the window to glare over at the brat. Sam tried to cover his smile, hiding his face behind his screen when he failed.

"Well I'm glad you're enjoying this. It's all your fault anyways." The older boy muttered, walking over to drop heavily into the other kitchen chair.

Sam looked up at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You're the one that wanted to come all the way up to Minnesota!" He hollered, his temper lost.

Dean got no satisfaction though; Sam didn't even grace his response with a bitch-face, but at least he had the decency to try to hold back a smile…the operative word being _try_.

"What the hell, man?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. Really, I am." Sam managed to reply through his laughter.

"Bullshit. You're loving this." Dean grumbled, mindlessly cleaning the weapons he'd brought in from the trunk a few hours ago when the crap weather had started and they'd realized that they wouldn't be going out tonight.

Dean glanced between Sam and the shotgun he was cleaning, watching as the younger man paused his rapid typing to clench his hands every now and then, he also noticed that the kid had yet to shed his coat. He casually stood up, sauntering over to the heater under the window and subtly checking to see if he could turn it up anymore.

Damn, it was already on high.

"If you turn that thing up any higher, it's going to explode." Sam commented, not bothering to remove his gaze from the laptop. Dean rolled his eyes, that brat always knew what he was up to.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He declared, feigning ignorance.

"I'm talking about you wanting to turn the heater up."

"I didn't touch the heater. I'm just standing here watching the hail violate my baby."

"If that's your story." Sam murmured distractedly.

"You find any new info?" Dean asked, making his way back towards the table, glancing over his kid brother's shoulder at the research.

"Not really, all the reports just call it a haunted house. All I can gather from the articles is that people are going in the house and never coming back out."

"How many people?"

"Six this year. A group of teenagers went to the house a few nights ago, apparently two of them went in to the house on a dare, and never came back out."

"We should talk to the other kids."

"Yeah, that's what I thought we could do this evening, but I guess we'll wait until tomorrow."

"This is what happens when you choose a hunt in Minnesota." Dean pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know the weather would be like this?" Sam asked incredulously.

"All I know is that it's not hailing in Georgia."

The dork rolled his eyes at his brother's whining and returned to his research.

That's how the night went, Sam aimlessly browsing through the internet trying to find information on something they knew nothing about, and Dean making every weapon in their arsenal shiny clean.

And then the power went out.

"Shit." The older hunter swore, flicking the light switch up and down, as if that would somehow magically illuminate the room and turn the damn heater back on.

Sam let out a long sigh, but spent the next hour using what was left of his battery to continue with research. Dean was also tremendously productive with his time; he made tiny airplanes out of the small notepad provided by the motel notepad.

Once he used the last scrap of paper and threw another plane at his little brother, smirking at the bitch-face he received for hitting him in the nose, he decided enough was enough. Dean got up, putting on his jacket, not realizing until it was around him how cold it was getting in there. He sent Sam a nervous look, realizing that the kid had his hands tucked into his sleeves as he looked up at him curiously.

"Where you going?"

"To the office, I want to see how long it's going to take them to turn the damn lights back on." And get that heater working again.

Sam nodded before turning his attention back to whatever was on the screen in front of him. Some boring newspaper article no doubt, the kid was never looking at anything interesting, like porn.

The trip in the freezing rain was useless. The guy at the office told him that a few power lines had gone down and the whole town was in the dark. He had no idea when it'd be back on or if the hail was going to come to an end anytime soon.

Useless.

Dean opened the motel door, cursing the weather as he entered the room.

"Power lines are down, whole town is out. The guy's got no clue when they'll be able to get the lights back on." He informed his little brother, sliding out of his wet coat and looking over at the table.

Sam was right where he left him, but he now had the hotel comforter wrapped around his shoulders. The kid made every effort to avoid eye contact. In his mind, Dean was directing every vile word he could think of towards the weather outside.

"We should get out of here."

Sam looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"And go where?" He asked.

"I don't know, somewhere with power."

"Thought you said the entire town was out."

"So, we go to another town." He shrugged.

"But the hunt is in this town."

"We come back tomorrow."

"Dean, you can't drive in that." Sam said, gesturing to the hail currently pounding on the windowsill.

The bugger was right ofcourse, the Impala didn't do ice.

"Well then what are they supposed to do? Sit here in the dark all night?"

"It's almost eleven, dude, you could try getting some rest."

"You get some rest." Dean retorted childishly.

"I will, after I'm done reading this."

As if the technology was listening, the laptop's battery finally gave out and the screen went black.

"Well look at that." The older man mocked with a smirk.

Sam sent him a frustrated stare, sighing heavily as he closed the computer lid and glanced aimlessly around the room.

"The dark isn't so much fun now is it, geek boy?" Dean snickered.

Sam let out a light chuckle, shaking his head as he got to his feet, subconsciously pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Dean watched with a worried gaze as the kid shivered under the motel comforter.

"Stop staring." Sam huffed, dropping onto his bed.

"Stop shivering."

Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that." He shot back sarcastically.

"You want to take a hot shower or something?" Dean suggested seriously.

"Ha! You really think there is going to be any hot water in this dump?"

Dean nodded, because the kid had a point. Besides two beds and a rickety table with a couple of chairs, there was nothing else in the dive of a room. There wasn't even a television, not that that mattered now. So, Sam and he did what they did every time they ended up stuck in some sketchy motel with nothing to do, they played poker.

"Man, little bro, you really need to work on your game." He jeered, collecting his winnings.

"You do realize that you aren't really gaining anything, we share cash." Sam pointed out between shivers. It wasn't really a surprise that the kid was losing, he was shivering and his hands were shaking so severely that he could barely even grip the cards let alone try and bluff his way through the game.

"Besides, I was always better at pool anyways." Sam reminded him with a sheepish grin.

"No argument there." He responded, his smile fading as he watched another shiver run its way through the long frame in front of him.

They played another couple of games before they had to stop, because Sam's hands were shaking too violently for him to pretend to be able to function any longer. He had to resort to putting on his gloves, which made playing any sort of card game virtually impossible.

Sam was getting ready to turn in, the water was running in the bathroom for almost half an hour before he appeared back in the main room.

"Get any hot water?" Dean asked, knowing exactly why the tap hand been on so long.

The cold young man just shook his head miserably before dropping into bed, having already changed into his sweats.

"Good night, Sammy." He called, heading into the bathroom.

"Night Dean." The other hunter mumbled into his pillow.

It was only a couple hours later, he was in the middle of a very pleasant dream, growing more enjoyable by the minute, when Dean was pulled from it by the feel of ice sliding underneath his legs. Years of experience had him recognizing those icicles instantly, his little brother's feet. The same freezing cold feet the kid had been shoving underneath his legs for his entire life.

"Sammy?" He murmured; rolling onto his side from his stomach, as he felt a nudge against his shoulder. "What's up, buddy?" He questioned groggily, cracking his eyes open.

Dean felt the body that had slid in next to him wiggle closer, and instinctively made more room for it, assuming that Sam had some kind of nightmare, and throwing his arm over the younger man's chest. Dean stiffened when he felt a full body shiver rack the thin frame that was pressed against his side. He was instantly awake, propping himself up on his elbow to get a better look at the kid.

Sam was cocooned in the comforter from his bed as well as underneath Dean's blanket, but his body was still shaking. The older man noticed his brother's jaw was clenching and he knew that it was because he was trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering. He reached a hand over and slid it onto the back of his baby brother's neck.

"Fuck, Sammy." He hissed, feeling the icy chill of his skin.

"So co-cold, De." The kid stuttered, rolling over and burying his face against the broad chest.

Dean was taken aback, his grown brother acting so much like the little child he used to be. "Don't worry, buddy. I've got you." He promised.

Dean rolled the lanky shivering body onto his back. Sam released an agitated whine as he unwrapped him from the layers of blankets.

"I've got to get a look at your hands, it'll just take a second." He assured, slowly removing the gloves from Sam's hands, and carefully held the chilled appendages. They were cold, but the thermal gloves were doing their job. Even as they shook in his light grip, they weren't discoloured in the least.

"Your hands in any pain?" He asked, gently turning them over.

Sam shook his head, looking up at him, wide hazel eyes staring into green ones.

"Good, that's good." Dean added, slipping the gloves back on.

Dean slid his hand up under Sam's sweater, feeling the tremors go through the slim body as the freezing temperature of the skin travelled into Dean's fingers.

"Awe hell, Sammy." He whispered, wrapping the long frame back up in blankets and climbing from the bed, trying not to let his little brother's mewling cry distract him.

"It's alright, kiddo, be right back." He promised as he rushed to the heater, hoping that the damn thing would turn on, which of course it did not. He tried the light switch, knowing that it wouldn't work and then moved onto the bathroom, turning the shower dial on hot and blasting the water, waiting less than fifteen minutes before realizing that the temperature wasn't going to change.

He hurried back over to the bed.

"Sam, do you need a hospital?" He asked, his hands on either side of the kid's face as he made him look at him. It wasn't a new question, they both had to ask it of each other before, when triage wasn't enough and only the injured person would know the truth.

Sam shook his head, indicating that a hospital wasn't necessary.

"Just n-need to g-get w-w-warm, De-eean." Sam explained through chattering teeth.

"Alright buddy. Alright, we got this." Dean assured, taking his brother at his word. If anyone knew hypothermia it was his kid, and after Sam had promised he would be more careful and honest – Dean knew he wouldn't lie about the severity of the situation. So, he did what was necessary to bring heat back into his baby brother's frozen body.

He climbed into the bed wrapping both him and Sam in the blankets and pulling his little brother into his arms, feeling the boy curl up against his chest.

They stayed like that for almost an hour, but nothing was changing. Sam's shivers were just as severe as they had been when he first climbed into the other bed. His shaggy head was tucked up under Dean's chin and the kid kept trying to wiggle himself impossibly closer. The shorter man's arms were stiff from holding his brother so tightly, but still he could feel tremors wracking his frame and hear his teeth chattering.

"Alright, that's it." He muttered, releasing Sam, his heart aching as the frozen kid instantly reached out for his big brother.

"Dean." He called out, alarmed.

"One second." He soothed, swiping Sam's bangs off his forehead.

He pulled off his sweater, feeling the chill in the air as he tossed it to the ground. He dug under the blankets, reaching for the hem of Sam's sweater and tugging it up.

"Lift up your arms, buddy." He instructed, softly. Sam obeyed his arm's shaking as he sluggishly raised them over his head. "That's it." Dean encouraged, tugging the sweater off, followed by the shirt underneath.

Sam gasped as the cold air hit his bare chest.

"I know, kiddo, just hold on a sec." Dean quickly climbed under the covers, wrapping his arms around his shivering little brother and pulling him into his chest.

Sam tucked his head in beneath Dean's chin and slid his feet back under his legs. His brother's gloved hands were wrapped around him as Dean's arms were wrapped across the slender shoulders. Their chests were pressed together; skin to skin contact was always the best way to warm someone up, a lesson their father taught them years ago. The frigid trembling body was met by Dean's warm solid grip as he willed his heat to invade the freezing skin, the same way Sam's cold was invading him.

The young man moaned miserably as a violent shiver wracked his thin body. Sam pressed himself impossibly closer to his brother, displaying a clear desperation for warmth.

"I got you, Sammy." Dean promised into his ear, rubbing his hands up and down his back.

"You remember one of the first times we pulled this stunt?"

It took a moment, but eventually he felt Sam nod, his hair sliding against his chin as he moved his head up and down.

Dean recalled the memory, reciting parts of it aloud as it played out in his head, giving Sam something to think about other than how cold he was.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

" _Piece of shit!" Dean hollered, chucking a useless hunk of wood across the dark room._

" _Dean, relax." Sam said with a tired sigh._

" _Do not tell me to relax, Sam! We are trapped in some fucking cellar with no way to get out!" He reminded the all-too-calm teenager._

" _Oh really, I hadn't noticed?" Sam replied sarcastically, leaning back against the wall from where he was seated on the floor._

" _Then why the hell are you telling me to calm down?" The older boy asked in aggravation._

" _Because all your yelling and chucking things really isn't helping."_

" _Oh, I'm sorry. Did you have a better plan?"_

" _Throwing a temper-tantrum is hardly a plan, Dean."_

" _Yeah, well neither is whining."_

" _I'm not whining. It's just, you're being loud and my head is killing me." Sam confessed quietly._

_Dean felt the pang of guilt. How could he be so stupid? The kid had just taken a tumble down a set of stairs and he had blood oozing from his skull, and here Dean was making a bunch of noise._

" _Let me see your head." He ordered softly, kneeling in front of Sam, moving his hand from where it had been pressing his t-shirt against the wound._

" _You just looked at it." Sam reminded him petulantly, reluctantly submitting himself to the examination._ _The cut wasn't too deep, but it was a head wound, which meant it was bleeding like crazy. Dean gently combed his little brother's shaggy hair to the side, trying to get a better look at the source._

" _Head wounds bleed like a bitch." He muttered, taking the blood-stained rag that used to be his clothing from Sam's hand and holding it against the wound._

_The kid hissed as more pressure was placed on the cut. Dean grimaced at the sound, hating to be the one to cause the kid pain even when he knew he was helping him in the long run._

" _Got to stop the bleeding." He explained, Sam nodded slightly in understanding, resting his head back against the wall._

" _You sure your noggin is the only thing you cracked tripping down those stairs?"_

" _I didn't trip down the stairs, Dean. They fell out from underneath me. There's a difference." The teen stated defensively._

" _Which I don't get, because I walked down them first, and they didn't collapse, but you get to the second step and the thing whole just crumbles. Maybe we got to keep you off the sweets there, Sammy-boy." He remarked, smirking at the bitch-face that came his way._

" _Or maybe you should lay off the pie."_

" _Me? Those steps didn't give-way under me, kiddo. That was all your doing."_

" _Well maybe you weakened them, and they were so damaged from holding up your fat ass that they couldn't hold me." Sam elaborated with a cheeky grin._

" _That's weak, little brother, even for you." Dean replied with a laugh before he lifted the make-shift bandage from the cut and scowled at the blood still flowing out of it. Pressing the ball of fabric back against the wound as he moved from kneeling to sitting beside the injured kid._

" _So, what do we do?" Sam asked, looking over at his big brother with those trusting hazel eyes that always believed Dean had the answers._

" _We are going to have to wait for Dad, I guess." The taller boy responded casually._

" _How will he find us?"_

" _When he gets back to the motel and we never show, he'll figure out something went wrong."_

" _Yeah, but we weren't supposed to be scouting the barn."_

" _I know, but once he realizes we aren't at the house he'll come looking over here." Dean responded logically._

_Sam looked unconvinced._

" _We just got to sit tight, Sammy. There's nothing else we can do. This hole in the ground isn't a great place to get cell reception so calling isn't an option. Dad will realize that something happened after he gets back from interviews and notices that we haven't returned from scouting. He will go to the house we were supposed to be checking EMF readings at. He will realize exactly what we did, that there aren't any readings there, and he will make his way over here."_

" _Yeah, but we aren't just in the barn, Dean. We are in the_ _ **cellar**_ _underneath a stupid trap door, that is now shut. How is he even going find it?"_

" _Dad may be old, but he still has eyes, dude. If we could spot it, he'll spot it in half the time. Alright? Quit worrying and give the man some credit. This isn't his first rodeo." Dean pointed out, hoping to ease his brother's fears, even though his own were growing._

_The teen seemed to accept the argument, but the worry line in his forehead never went away._

_Sam's blood finally managed to clot, but the amount that coated the balled-up t-shirt was discouraging. However, the bigger problem was the drop in temperature._ _Cellars were cold and damp, any moron could tell you that. The chill in the air was noticeable, but not dangerous, unless you were a young teenager prone to both hypothermia and frostbite, who had recently lost a significant amount of blood - then a chill wasn't quite as simple._

_Dean zipped up Sam's coat as he shivered, sliding out of his own and wrapping it around the slim frame as well._

" _No, Dean. You keep it." The kid said, trying to shimmy out of the jacket._

" _Nah, I'm good, little brother. You have it." Dean insisted casually, guiding the skinny arms through the sleeves and zipping it up, like he had done so many times back when Sam was just a toddler._

_Sam's easy acceptance and lack of argument was a blatant display of how cold the kid really was._

_Dean got to his feet and wandered around the room for what must have been the twelfth time since the stairs gave out and trapped them down there. There was literally nothing in the cellar, nothing more than a bunch of crumbled rotten wood that used to be a set of stairs. All they had was a crowbar, a shotgun, the glock tucked into the back of Dean's jeans, and the flashlight currently lighting up the small space. He couldn't reach the fucking door because while the cellar didn't have a lot of surface area, it had some serious height. Even with Sam standing on his shoulders there was no way they'd be close enough to reach the trap door._ _Dean inwardly cursed their misfortune again, sending a worried glance over to his little brother who was sitting against the wall shivering, and wishing for the billionth time in the past hour that their Dad would hurry the fuck up._

_It was Dean's fault they were trapped. He shouldn't have tried to go down here, hell he shouldn't have even come over to the barn. Sammy had wanted to leave when they didn't find any readings at the old abandoned house and that's what they should have done. Instead, Dean had to go exploring, and look where that got them._

_Dean directed his gaze back to his little brother, noting that his shivering was becoming more intense by the minute._

_Dean moved and sat beside the kid, pulling the slim frame towards him. The trembling boy made no objection to being held in his big brother's arms, another alarming sign of how poorly the kid was feeling. As Dean sat there he could feel the cold seeping through his jeans, and he realized something. He switched to sit cross-legged and manoeuvred his little brother so he was sitting sideways in Dean's lap, the shaggy head dropping to rest against the older boy's shoulder as the skinny legs draped over his right thigh._

" _What you doing, Dean?"_

_The fogginess of the question wracked the hunter's concern up to a whole new level. It may have been due the wound on Sam's head or the freezing state of his body, but either way it didn't seem like a good thing._

" _The floor is as cold as ice, kiddo, it's sucking the heat right out of you." He explained as he wrapped one arm around the teen's shoulders and another around his legs, rubbing his limbs to try and generate some heat._

" _Okay." Sammy sighed, in a more compliant tone than he'd used in years._

" _How are your hands?" Dean asked, looking at the gloved appendages resting in his lap, grateful as hell that he had forced Sam to wear his gloves before they left the motel._

" _They're alright." The wounded boy stated through teeth that had just begun to chatter._

_And not that Dean didn't trust the kid, but Sam had always been shitty when it came to gauging the severity of his own injuries, so he pulled the gloves off and checked to see for himself. They weren't too bad, no discolouration and not as cold to the touch as the rest of him seemed to be. Satisfied he slipped the gloves back on the chilled hands and set them in his lap._

_It wasn't long until Dean started to shiver. Part of the reason being that he was sitting in a cold, damp cellar wearing nothing more than jeans and a flannel over-shirt, his t-shirt balled up on the floor covered in too much blood and his jacket wrapped around the boy sitting in his lap. Another reason for his shivering probably being that he was holding his cold little brother so closely against his body and the kid was sucking out all his warmth._

" _I'm s-sorry, D-Dean." The stunted whisper had him looking into the wide hazel eyes directed his way._

" _For what?" He wondered, rubbing up and down the Sam's arm, trying desperately to generate some heat._

" _It's m-my f-fault the st-stairs b-broke." He stuttered miserably._

" _I was just joking when I said that, dude."_

" _Yeah, b-but you w-were right."_

" _Buddy, that wood was rotted straight through, it shouldn't have been able to hold its self-up let alone us. And if you really think your skinny-ass could do all that damage alone, then you're nuts." He reassured with a smile._

" _I'm n-not that sk-skinny." Sam huffed._

 _Dean barked out a surprised laugh._ " _Sure, little man, whatever you say." His grin fading as a particularly violent shiver made its way through the teen._ " _I'm the one who should be saying sorry." He muttered, pulling the kid even closer._

_Sam raised an eyebrow as his big brother looked at him past all that hair._

" _I shouldn't have made us go exploring. We should have gone home after we didn't find anything at the house, like you wanted to. And I sure as hell shouldn't have come down here." He spat out angrily, hating himself even more now that he admitted to his asinine behaviour._

" _Dean, you couldn't have known this was going to happen. And checking the barn made sense, I just wanted to go home so that I could finish working on my history paper." Sam admitted softly in between shivers, his teeth having momentarily stopped their chattering._

" _You are such a dork." Dean insulted fondly, swiping Sam's hair from his face so he could get a clear view of the teenage eye-roll his comment received._

" _You feeling a little warmer?"_

" _Little bit." Sam informed him with a slight smile._

" _Good."_

_Dean lost track of time, unable to reach his phone without releasing his grip on Sam and unable to see outside, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed. It had been about seven at night when they got to the house, and about forty-five minutes later they had strolled over to the barn. He was thinking that they had spent at least two hours trapped in the cellar, maybe three._

_And it wasn't getting any warmer._

_By the time he heard the sound of footsteps above them, he was doing his best to keep his little brother conscious while he shook violently in his arms._ _Dean shifted slightly, pulling the handgun from the back of his jeans and aiming it up when he heard the trap door being lifted, just in case._

" _Dean? Sam?" Their father's gruff voice was everything that Dean ever wanted to hear in that moment of time._

" _We're down here, Dad." He called out, the flashlight was dim and flickering, its battery on its last legs, but it was enough light for the older hunter to find them with his eyes._

_Dean watched the hunter's expression morph into one of momentary panic, a rare occurrence for John Winchester. The younger man looked down and realized what John was seeing. His eldest son on the ground and the youngest being cradled in his lap with his eyes closed and hair matted with blood._

_It wasn't until a full body shiver ran through the kid that their dad's panic visibly faded and he schooled his features, the fear of his son being dead was seemingly gone and it was time to take action._

" _The stairs broke." Dean croaked out, having done nothing but whisper comforting nonsense to his little brother for the past few hours, forgetting momentarily how to speak in a full-volume._

" _Alright, I'm going to find something to get you guys out of there. Just hang on boys." John instructed, his face disappearing from the open space._

" _Hear that, Sammy? Told you he'd find us." Dean stated, nudging his little brother, pleased when the kid cracked his eyes open to look at him, but not overly thrilled about the lack of clarity he saw within the hazel gaze. Sam burrowed into the older boy as his body shook._

_Dean was so fucking tired of watching his kid shiver._

" _Hurry, Dad!" He called out, not sure his voice had enough volume to carry out of the cellar, let alone to wherever the hunter was._ _He was tired and cold as he clung to the small teen vibrating against him._

_A moment later Dean was startled by a loud thud, looking over to see a ladder leading from the trap door to the cellar floor. He watched as their father climbed down it, cautiously testing each step for sturdiness as he descended, thankfully the wooden ladder looked to be much sturdier than the stairs had been._

_The older man rushed over and squatted down in front of them._

" _Fill me in here, Dean." He ordered, but his voice wasn't as hard as it often was when he gave a command._

" _No EMF at the house, came to check the barn. Found the cellar, on our way down the stairs collapsed." He explained, nodding towards the rotten chunks of wood littering the room._ " _Sammy smashed his head. No concussion, just a cut. It's clotted now but it bled a lot, not too deep though." He continued, watching John's large calloused hand become a gentle instrument as he sifted carefully through Sam's matted hair, nodding in agreement with the description of the wound._

" _He hurt anywhere else?" The hunter asked, looking the teen over._

 _Dean shook his head to indicate the negative._ " _Just cold."_

_As if to prove it, his little brother shivered violently._

_Dad tore his eyes from triaging Sam and brought them up to meet Dean's weary gaze._

" _You alright?" He questioned, needing to depend on his son's honest assessment, because he was unable to look him over as his body was covered by the lanky teenager in his lap._

" _I'm good." He informed his dad confidently with a nod of his head._

" _Good, that's good. Alright, let's get you boys out of here."_

 _John got to his feet, leaning down and reaching for Sam._ _Instinctively, Dean's arms clenched tighter around the young boy, not wanting to hand him over._

" _Come on, son. Let me take him." The command was said with a certain amount of patience and understanding, more than Dean would normally accredit his father of possessing._

_John waited, his arms outstretched as his eldest son slowly loosened his grip on the youngest Winchester._

" _That's it, Dean. I got him." Dad reassured, sliding one arm under Sam's leg, the other curling around his back as he lifted the teen off the other boy's lap._

_Dean's partially-coherent little brother panicked for a moment, confused about what was going on, he flailed about._

" _No! De." The kid gasped, looking around in confusion._

" _It's alright, Sammy. Dad's got you." He explained, quickly climbing to his feet and gently combing the unruly brown hair off the young face._

_Sam spun his head around, looking up to see their father's face staring down at him._

" _Dad." He sighed in relief, going slack in the older man's arms, letting his head roll until it came to rest against John's collarbone._

_Dean looked at his father and watched as his schooled expression fell away, revealing an emotion he was all too familiar with, one that he had felt every second of every day since he carried Sam out of their burning home._

_Love._

_The kind of love you feel when you have someone who is entirely dependent on you, when someone trusts you so completely._ _That love was followed by another emotion Dean understood just as well, one that ran his life, one that he felt every time he heard his little brother say his name, specifically the shortened version._ _The fierce need to protect. To protect the innocent life of the person you love, to protect the helpless child you are holding in your arms._

_Dean watched as that protective surge filled his Dad's body, his arms wrapping tighter around the lanky teenager in his arms, pulling the kid closer into him. His face set in a stern determination as he looked over at his eldest son._

" _You good?" He inquired, his voice thick with emotion._

 _Dean nodded grabbing hold of the ladder, knowing that he'd need to hold it steady while John climbed up with Sam in his arms._ _The hunter ascended the steps, steady the whole way, waiting for Dean to follow once he arrived at the top._

_They made their way back to the Impala and the truck parked next to it._

" _Does he need a hospital, Dean?" Dad asked, sliding Sam into the back seat of the car, pulling the blanket out from underneath the passenger seat and wrapping it around the kid, followed by his leather jacket._

" _I don't think so, not for the cut on his head anyways. He lost enough blood to make him tired and add to the cold, but not so much that he needs to be topped up." Dean reported, thinking back to the amount of blood that had covered his t-shirt._

_Their father nodded in agreement, having also seen the evidence._

" _I'm just not sure about the cold, Dad. He's shivering hard."_

" _He's not hypothermic. We can warm him up back at the room."_

_Dean nodded, trusting his father's diagnosis entirely. The man was ex-military, he knew shit._

_He followed John's truck back into town, keeping up with his just-over-the-limit speed, fast enough to get there quickly, but not so fast you risk attracting attention._

_He barely had time to put the Impala in park before John was pulling Sam carefully out of the backseat and entering the room, laying the kid gently on the bed._

" _How's your temperature?"_

_The question threw the older boy off as he looked quizzically at his father, watching him removing the multiple layers from Sam's body._

" _Dean?" He asked again, peeling his little brother's shirt off over his head._

" _I'm good, warm." He informed the older hunter, just now noticing that blasting heat in the car had warmed him quite sufficiently._

" _Good, take off your clothes."_

_Dean stalled at the question, but quickly realized what the game plan was when he watched Dad pulling Sam's jeans off his skinny legs._

_The young teen let out a startled gasp as his boxer clad body was exposed to the chill in the air, even though the motel room was a pretty warm temperature, it was almost too much for Sam and he began to whimper._ _Dean stripped down to his boxers, climbing immediately under the blankets his dad was holding open._

" _Chest to chest." The hunter reminded his son distractedly, as he added the blanket from the other bed and wrapped it securely around the two boys._

_Dean nodded as he pulled Sammy into him._

" _Make sure his hands are between you. The gloves kept them from frostbite, but they are still cold."_

_Dean immediately found Sam's chilled fingers and brought them up, placing them against his chest as he wrapped his arms around slender back and pulled the smaller frame into him, hooking his legs onto Sam's and tugging him closer._

" _Good. Hold him. I'm going to go get a warm bath started." Dad said, making his way to the small motel bathroom._

" _Dean?" Sam asked groggily, his face pressed into his big brother's chest._

" _Yeah Sammy, you're going to be alright. Dad and I are going to warm you up." He promised into his ear._

_His kid nodded against him._

_John returned moments later, he placed a warm washcloth along the back of Sam's neck, using another one to wash the blood from the teenager's face and hair._

_The older boy watched, his father's face mere inches from his as he provided such gentle care to his baby brother._ _He often missed this side of his dad. The side that was loving and gentle, the side that remembered how breakable children could be. It was the side of him that was often hidden behind the gruff exterior of an embittered hunter, only coming out in times like this, times where the hunt didn't matter, times where the only thing that mattered was family._

" _You're going to be alright, Sammy." Their father reassured the kid, placing a comforting hand on his head as Sam squinted up at him, a small smile making the dimples appear on his face. John smiled down softly at his youngest and then made to leave, but before he could, Sam wiggled one of his hands free and grabbed onto one of his father's much larger ones._

_Their dad looked down, visually surprised when the cold fingers gripped onto him._

" _What is it, Sam?" He asked, focussing on his youngest._

" _Thanks for saving us, Dad." Sam whispered out between shivers, his wide hazel eyes staring up at their father._

_Dean smirked, watching the hunter's face soften at the puppy-dog look he was receiving – the younger man knew exactly how it felt to be on the other end of Sammy's soft grateful expression, he knew the power it held and the impact it had._

_John didn't say anything, the emotion of the moment clearly overwhelming him. He simply smiled, gently squeezing Sam's hand before letting go and returning to the bathroom._

_Sam turned back towards Dean, his shivering tapering off as he pressed his body impossibly closer to his big brother._

_Dean grinned at his little brother. Because if anyone could coax out the soft side of hard-core hunter John Winchester, it was this shaggy headed, puppy-dog eyed teenager, who was currently acting very much like the young child he had once been._

_Dean knew first-hand how Sammy could bring out someone's softer side, how he could bring out the best in people. Dean didn't want to imagine what kind of hard, unfeeling, bitter person he would be if he hadn't had a little brother like Sam._

_\--------------------------------------------------------_

"Cuddling and story time. my gawd, Dean. I think we've surpassed chick-flick territory." Sam mumbled tiredly against his big brother, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. His hand was warm; he must have taken his gloves off while the older boy was rambling on. Dean couldn't blame the kid, didn't imagine he'd want to sleep with them on.

"Shut up, Bitch." He laughed in reply, unbelievably glad to feel that his little brother's shivers were not nearly as intense as they had been.

"Jerk." Sam sighed, nuzzling is head against him, like a cat, before letting his body relax.

Dean could tell by the soft steady breathing that the kid was falling asleep, the occasional shiver not enough to wake him.

Dean hated how often he found himself trying to warm Sam up. He hated how many times he had to watch him shiver. He hated that there was nothing he could do to fix this. He could try as much as he wanted to prevent it, and when it happened he could hold the kid until it stopped, but there was no quick fix. There was no one he could threaten or kill to stop the cold form invading his little brother. No spell or ritual he could perform, no one he could beat the hell out of to fix this.

It had always been Dean's job to stand between Sam and the threat. It never mattered what the threat was, be it man or monster. He had always known that his place was in front of Sam, protecting his little brother. But when the threat wasn't human or supernatural, when it wasn't something or someone he could maim or kill, when he had not control, _that_ was when he felt helpless.

He felt helpless lying in bed with his shivering little brother in his arms.

Dean Winchester didn't do helpless.

Sam murmured softly against him, the long hair tickling his chin as the younger man moved his head and his hand came in between them, travelling up Dean's chest, until it came to rest on the amulet and long bony fingers curled around the small charm.

Dean smiled, gawd he loved his kid.

He would do anything for him.

He would fight people, monsters, and even the fucking weather for his little brother.

Because Sammy belonged to him.

He was Dean's to look out for.

His to love.

And his to protect.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean woke up the next morning surrounded by his octopus of a little brother.

Sam's sasquatch limbs were entangled with his, the icicle feet tucked under his legs as the boney knees pressed against his thigh. They shaggy head was still tucked under his chin, one skinny arm thrown over his side, and Dean smiled as he noticed the amulet was still clenched in the long fingers.

Sam's body was warm and Dean felt his breath on his chest as he slept on. He made sure not to move a muscle, having no desire at all to rouse the sleeping boy.

It wasn't long until he felt Sam start to wake. A history of watching his little brother come out of sleep had him completely attune to his routine.

It always began with the legs; they would start to move and kick about. Then came the stretching, his back, arms, and legs all extending as far as they could, save the arm tucked in between the two of bodies. Followed by the head-roll, Sam's long hair tickling Dean's face as he moved his head from side to side. Then the mumbling arrived, not actual words or anything, just an assortment of moans and grumbles. And finally, the eyes peeked open, two hazel orbs clouded with sleep blearily staring out at the world, or at Dean, actually.

Ever since he was young, Sam had always searched for his big brother upon waking. Dean would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel pretty damn important.

True to history, Sam's eyes searched him out the moment they opened.

Dean feigned sleep as he felt the shaggy head moving to look up at him.

He knew Sam.

He knew now that it was morning, now that he was warm and feeling alright, the embarrassment would set in. His little brother wasn't a kid anymore, he was no longer okay with being coddled like a child. His stubbornness and independence disappeared when he was hurting or cold, but when he recovered they often returned with a vengeance.

Therefore - since Sam had gotten older - whenever any form of cuddling was necessary, due to cold or fear, Dean would fake sleep until his little brother woke. Then he would allow him to untangle himself from him and would conveniently come out of sleep after the kid snuck off to the bathroom. He did all that to save him from having to feel embarrassed.

Dean waited for Sam carefully pull away and climb discreetly off the bed, but it wasn't happening. Instead, he felt a gentle pull on his neck as the string of the amulet was lightly tugged. He cracked his eye open just a little and looked down discreetly. Sam's gaze was focused on the amulet being toyed with in his hand, fingers sliding over the ugly little charm. A fond smile crossed Dean's face.

"Sammy?" He croaked, voice rough with sleep.

The younger man didn't flinch, or even remove his eyes from the object in his hand; as though he had already known Dean was awake, which wouldn't surprise the hunter. He got the feeling the little bugger had always known a hell of a lot more than he ever let on to.

"You alright?" He asked.

His brother's only response was a small nod, made without bothering to alter his gaze.

It was out of character.

Usually, Sam would have made his awkward escape by now; humiliated by the fact he had spent the night huddled in his arms. Then again, the last time they had been in this particular situation was years ago, before Sammy headed off to school. So maybe time had changed some things.

"I missed you."

The quiet confession pulled Dean from his analysis of his little brother's behaviour. His eyes went wide as he stared down at the shaggy head. The statement had been so honest, made without reservation and it threw him completely off guard. It was Sam, just so fucking Sam to simply announce that kind of shit. The kind that shit made Dean's throat close-up and his heart ache; and the kid just spewed it out like it was nothing.

Dean wanted to tell him that he missed him to.

That getting up every day was harder when Sam hadn't been there. That every minute they were apart, Dean had this feeling inside him that wouldn't go away, this pain that went all the way down to his soul. He wanted to tell his little brother that it was all he could do to function without him, that Dean's life meant nothing without Sam in it. He wanted to say that he missed the kid like hell, but he couldn't get it out, couldn't get his lips to form the words. Because he had never been like Sam, he had never been able to wear his heart on his sleeve the way his little brother did, had never been able to vocalize what he was feeling the way he did.

He had never had that kind of strength.

"Yeah, same here, Sammy." He muttered past the lump in his throat.

"You going to get off him anytime soon?" He asked gruffly, after a moment.

The young man just sighed, making no effort to move.

"Sam?"

"I'm not on you." He mumbled.

Dean had to take a piss, but he had never been the one to push Sam away, and it was something he couldn't physically do, not ever. He felt as though the kid would read into it, interpret his actions as some form of rejection.

And rejecting Sammy was something Dean could never do.

So, he lay there, watching as his little brother proceeded to examine the gift he had given him so many years ago. Dean didn't understand the sudden fascination the kid had with the amulet, but he found it oddly comforting.

"I uuhh…" Sam paused, Dean could tell he was choosing his words carefully.

"I never forgot. Everything you did for me…I never forgot it, not any of it."

Dean gave his kid a quizzical look.

"What are you talking about, buddy?"

"When I left for school, I don't want you to think that I forgot about all the stuff you did for me, how you always took care of me. "

Two wide hazel eyes looked up at the older boy, staring right directly into his soul.

"I never forgot, Dean. I still haven't forgotten." He finished, his gaze searching the green one.

Oh gawd, it was way too early for this shit.

All Dean could do was nod, because there was no fucking way he was going to do anything else to add to the girlishness of the moment, like crying – which he was pretty fucking close to doing. He had no idea where the hell all these emotions and confessions were coming from, whether the kid had some weird sort of dream, or spending the night cuddling like girls had made him all sentimental.

"We done now? Or do you want to start braiding each other's hair?" He joked.

Sam smirked, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes. His little brother slid his thumb over the face of the charm one last time, before letting it drop with a sigh.

"Shut up, Dean. You know you love to cuddle." Came Sam's delayed response as he pulled away and slid off the other end of the bed.

"Whatever you say, princess." He replied.

"I'm sorry, what was that? You don't want any hot water? Okay good, I'll use it all." Sam quipped, walking into the bathroom with his duffel over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

"Don't you dare!" Dean hollered as the kid closed the door with a laugh.

Not like Sam was going to be able to get any hot water in the first place, he thought belatedly, as he climbed out of bed and went to the light switch.

"Shit." He cursed as he flipped it up and nothing happened. "Well that's just terrific."

"Stop talking to yourself, Dean! It's weird." Sam yelled out from the bathroom.

"Stop listening and just take a damn shower!" He responded.

"So bossy." Sam called out right before the water turned on.

The record quick shower the hunter took was all the proof Dean needed to know that there wasn't any hot water.

Sam came out of the bathroom just moments after he'd entered it, dripping wet and shivering.

"Here." Dean tossed him the keys as he headed to the bathroom. "I want you to go sit in the car, turn her on, and blast the heat."

"Dean, that's really not—

"Hell yeah, it's necessary! My cuddling quota has been filled for at least a month, so you need to keep your ass warm."

Sam looked as though he was going to argue, but nodded instead. Dean was surprised by the compliancy, but was sure not to show it as he closed the door and prepared for his own lightning speed shower.

"What the hell?" He shouted out as he locked up the motel room a mere five minutes later and saw his little brother outside clearing ice off the windshield with the snow-scraper.

"It's just a thin layer, Dean. I don't think it damaged the paint."

"You think I'm talking about the ice?"

The young man looked up from what he was doing, a question on his face.

"What did I tell you?" He bit out, marching over and pulling the snow-scraper from his grip, relieved that the moron had at least put his gloves on.

"What's your problem?"

"I told you to get in the car, Sam." Dean reminded him in frustration.

"I know, I just thought I'd get some of the ice off while I was waiting." He replied casually.

"The point of you waiting in the Impala was so you wouldn't freeze your ass off." The shorter man clarified, giving his brother a gentle push in the direction of the passenger side.

"I was just trying to help." Sam muttered dejectedly.

"And I appreciate that. But what would really help me is you not getting hypothermia, so get in the car."

The younger hunter released an exasperated huff as he climbed into the vehicle.

"Start it up and turn the fucking heat on, Sam!" Dean yelled out, not surprised by the bitch-face that he received in response.

"I'm sorry, baby." He apologized, turning his attention back to the Impala after his brother turned her on. There was a thin layer of ice coding the entire surface of the vehicle. "We are never coming this far north again." He muttered as he finished scraping the windshield.

"So, what's the verdict? Is the car going to make it?" Sam asked with a smirk when his brother dropped into the front seat.

Dean's unimpressed side-long glance had the kid snickering, but at least he shut his mouth.

"The Impala is going to be fine, despite the torture this state is putting her through. If I was you, I'd spend more time worrying about all that girlie hair that's freezing to your face." He said, pointing to the kid's still damp brown locks.

"You worry too much."

"Yeah, and you don't worry enough."

Sam shook his head with a laugh.

"What?" Dean asked, pulling onto the road, driving slow, having no desire to end up spinning on the ice.

"Nothing, it's just you used to always say that it was me who worried too much."

"You do."

"But you just said—

"You worry too much about everything not related to yourself."

"Yeah, okay, that makes a lot of sense." Sam said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"You have always worried too much about school and hunting, about me and dad and every other human being on this godforsaken planet. But when it comes to you, you don't worry nearly enough." Dean tried to explain.

"You're the same way." Sam pointed out quietly.

"No." He denied.

"Yeah Dean, you always—

"I worry about you. That's it."

"And Dad." Sam added.

"No, Dad can take care of himself."

"You're seriously saying you're not worried the least bit about him?" He questioned in disbelief.

"Concerned, a little, maybe." The older boy admitted.

Dean had never really worried about John before. He had always had full confidence in his abilities and didn't waste a lot of time fretting over all the things that could happen to him, not the way Sam did. But John had never been gone this long without contacting Dean, so yeah, maybe he was getting a tad concerned.

"And you don't worry about yourself either." Sam pointed out.

Dean didn't have much of a response, because the kid had a point.

"So why should I worry about myself when you don't do the same?"

Dean thought back to another time when Sammy had made the same kind argument for the same reason.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Dean was confined to the bed with a broken leg and three busted ribs. He spent most of his day watching television, Sam waiting on him hand and foot when he was home to do it, which wasn't too often. The kid was busy with school and as if that wasn't enough, he had had to pick up a job as well._

_Their dad had joined Pastor Jim and Caleb on some big hunt, normally Dean would be there helping them out, but his injuries had him benched for the moment. Anyways, the hunt was taking a hell of a long time and the brothers had run clear out of cash. Dean had suggested they just make use of the one emergency credit card they had left, but Sam had reminded him of their father's constant warning to only use fraudulent credit cards when you were passing through or else you were going to get caught in a world of legal trouble._ _So instead the kid was stuck in school from eight am until three pm and then working at some diner from five pm until twelve am and he was taking care of Dean somewhere in the middle of all that._

" _Sammy, I can make my own dinner." He whined as his brother set a sandwich and some soup on the bedside table._

" _Really? And how would you do that? I mean, seriously man, you can hardly get vertical for the length of time it takes you to go to the bathroom, you think you could stand long enough to make a meal?" Sam asked in disbelief._

" _I could manage." He grumbled miserably, not willing to admit that he made an effort not to drink too much because taking a piss was really hard to do with this many broken bones, not too mention the giant cast encasing most of his leg._

" _Sure, whatever." Sam dismissed in that classic teenage way, dumping Dean's meds into his awaiting palm._ " _Take your pills, eat your food. Don't get out of that bed."_

" _Yes, nurse." He sulked, glaring down at the pills, they were the reason Sam was stuck working his ass off. These fucking expensive pills were the reason for the bags under the hazel eyes and the constant yawning. Dean needed them for pain and to stave off infection, but he was willing to go without if it would make life easier for Sam. Of course, the kid wouldn't hear of it._

" _Don't glare at them, Dean. Swallow them."_

_He looked up to see Sam staring down at him, as though the boy had read his mind. He tossed the medication into his mouth, shaking his head at the water his brother offered him and dry swallowing them. Even after taking them Sam continued to watch him, one eyebrow raised._

" _Seriously?" Dean asked, knowing what the brat wanted._

_Sam proceeded to stare._

" _You're an idiot." Dean insulted before giving the stubborn little bitch a clear view of the inside of his mouth, lifting his tongue so he could be sure there were no pills hidden anywhere._ _After a brief examination, Sam nodded his head with a smirk and made his way across the motel room._

" _You're like a nazi-nurse." He muttered before biting into his sandwich and humming in pleasure._ " _But you certainly are a good little cook." He praised as he chewed._

" _The soup is from a can. And making a sandwich doesn't require a whole lot of cooking skills." Sam explained as he put on his shoes._

" _Well I wasn't suggesting you open a restaurant or anything. I'm just saying you know how to make it exactly the way I like it." Dean tried to get the kid to take the damn compliment, and it seemed that he did, a small dimply smile crossing his face as he tied on his last shoe._

" _You need anything else before I head out?" His brother inquired as he came to a stand._

" _Foot massage, six-pack, oh and a chainsaw." Dean listed off._

" _Dean, we both know you'd never let anyone without breasts massage you."_

_The older boy nodded at that truth._

" _And no alcohol on meds, you know that."_

_Dean rolled his eyes._

" _What about the chainsaw?"_

_It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes._

" _Dude, it's only been two weeks, you know that cast isn't ready to come off yet."_

_Of course he knew it, that didn't make him any happier about it. His little brother had to help him take a freakin shower yesterday and the kid was wearing himself out taking care of him. Dean was beyond ready to get rid of the damn cast._

" _Glaring at your leg isn't going to make it heal any faster." Sam informed him with a snicker as he rifled through his backpack._ " _Here." He pulled out a magazine and held it out._

_Dean looked at the cover, Guns and Ammo, spelled out in capital letters across the top._

_He smiled._ " _Awe, Sammy, you shouldn't have."_

" _I figured you needed something to help pass the time." The teen shrugged._

 _Dean went to take the magazine, but was distracted by the sight of the stretched out hand._ " _What the hell?" he barked, bypassing the book and grabbing hold of the kid's wrist._

" _Dean." Sam sighed._

" _Don't' Dean' me. Why is your hand all dry and cracky?" He questioned, turning it over and seeing how much worse it was on the other side._

" _They are just dried out. It's from doing dishes all evening." His brother claimed, all too casually._

" _They? Both your hands are like this?"_

_Sam nodded and brought his other one into view. Dean examined the two appendages. They were hard to the touch, dry, and cracked._

" _I've taken jobs as dish-man at a few diners in my time, Sam, and my hands never once looked this fucked up." He cursed, sweeping his fingers over his brother's palm, not missing the slight wince at the applied pressure._ " _They stiff too?" He asked._

" _A little." Sam admitted._

" _How are you even using these?" He questioned bluntly, allowing his brother to have his hands back._

" _It's not that bad." Sam shrugged._

" _Not that bad? They are like rocks. You're telling me they aren't painful to use?"_

" _Not really, only hurts a little. But I picked up some lotion that's helping a bit with the cracked skin."_

" _How long they been like that?"_

_The lack of response didn't help his rising frustration._

" _Sam!" He snapped._

" _Bout a week."_

_His answer was like a punch to the gut. A week? His kid brother's hands had been this jacked up for a week and he hadn't noticed?_

" _They got a lot worse last night, that's why I picked up some cream after work. It wasn't this bad until just recently." Sam stated earnestly; apparently able to sense that Dean had been accusing himself for not paying enough attention._

" _Is this because of the frostbite?" He asked, his guilt building by the minute._

" _I don't think so. I'm washing dishes in hot water, not cold."_

_Dean nodded, because he also didn't understand how that had anything to do with the effects of his frostbite._

" _Alright, well you better call into work or something."_

" _Why?"_

" _Um, because you won't be going in."_

" _Dude, I can still do my job." Sam argued._

" _I don't see how, but even if you can manage it's not a good idea."_

" _I'll be fine."_

" _Sam, if the hot water is what did this to your hands do you really think it's a good idea to keep soaking them all day?"_

" _It's fine. I'm fine. The cream is working, okay? Stop worrying." Sam instructed as he grabbed the keys off the table and made his way to the door._

" _I don't want you driving my baby with those hands!" Dean hollered, wishing he could get off this damn bed and tackle that moron to the ground._

" _The Impala and I will be fine. Keep your ass in bed."_

" _Sam!" Dean yelled as he watched stubborn brat leave the room._

" _I'll bring you back a burger." Were the teen's last words as he closed the motel door._

" _Sam!" He shouted out, giving up his fruitless struggle to climb from the bed when he heard the Impala pulling out of the parking lot._ " _Damnit!" he swore. Suddenly wishing that Sam was not yet old enough to drive, and that he wasn't confined to this bloody bed._

_Dean spent the next six hours either brooding or dozing, with a little bit of reading and shitty television mixed in._

_Shortly after 11:00pm he heard the sound of someone entering the motel room, or trying to. The jiggling of the doorknob went on long enough that by the time the door actually swung open he had his gun at the ready._ _Of course it was just his lanky little brother, who didn't even notice the weapon pointed at him because he was too busy trying not to drop the two bags tucked under his arms._

" _Sammy." Dean sighed, placing the handgun back on the side-table._

" _Hey." The teen muttered, setting his stuff down on the kitchen table and kicking off his shoes._

" _You're home early." He observed aloud._

" _Yeah." Came the simple response._

_Something was off. Sam was normally quiet after work, too tired to have much of a conversation. And while he usually only stayed upright long enough to check on his big brother and brush his teeth, he wasn't ever this somber. Hell, the kid hadn't even looked at Dean yet. There were a number of signs of abnormal behaviour, but the biggest one was that Sam hadn't asked the first thing that had come out of his mouth as soon as he got in the door every day for the past two weeks, 'how you feeling?'_

_Not that Dean was complaining, but Sam not behaving like a mother-hen was concerning to say the least._

_Yup, something was definitely wrong._

" _How was work?" He queried, picking carefully to figure out what the deal was._

" _Fine."_

" _How are your hands?"_

_The lack of response had him on high alert._

" _Sam?"_

_Again, nothing, the kid wouldn't even turn around, just stood facing the table._

" _Alright that's it." Dean muttered as he began to shimmy his way over to the edge of the bed, setting his good leg on the ground._ _He was about to pull his casted right leg off the bed when Sam stopped him._

" _Whoah, Dean. Stop! Hold on." The teen demanded, rushing towards him._

" _Then tell me what's going on." He ordered, staring up at his little brother._

 _Sam bit down on his lower lip, always a bad sign._ " _Just, don't freak out."_

_Another bad sign._

" _Tell me and I'll react however the hell I want." Dean bit out. He hated that he was stuck sitting in bed, as if his sasquatch of a brother wasn't already getting taller than him, now the kid was practically towering over him._

_Sam looked down, Dean following his gaze to the hands, which had been tucked up in his shirt sleeves, that were slowly appearing._

" _Sonuvabitch." He cursed, once they were in full view._ _His little brother's hands were blistered and bleeding._

_Dean made to touch them, to turn them over, but he was too afraid of hurting his kid. So instead, his hands hovered uselessly over the damaged ones._

" _Turn." He ordered softly, his voice barely more than a whisper._

_Sam listened, doing as he requested._

_His palms were even worse. Cracked, blistered, and bleeding in every possible spot. His fingers were the same; it looked as though the kid had contracted some kind of disease._

_Dean attempted to climb to his feet again._

" _Dean, what are you—_

" _We have to get you to the hospital." He grunted out, the pain in his ribs screaming as he worked to get off the bed._

" _I already went." Sam informed him, pressing his forearms down on the broad shoulders as a pathetic attempt to keep him from standing._

" _It sure doesn't look like it." Dean paused momentarily to glare up at the fibber._

" _I did, I swear. They said it's fine."_

" _Bullshit!" He spat, trying to pull his uselessly broken leg off the bed._

" _Dean, Stop!"_

_He did, not because his brother said so…well maybe a little. The truth was Sam could be quite forceful when he wanted to. He also stopped because his ribs were killing him and his leg wasn't cooperating, plus his stupid little brother wasn't giving him the space necessary to climb out of the damned bed._

" _I went to the clinic. They said my hands would be fine. They—_

" _Sam, you look like a fucking burn victim!" The older boy shouted in frustration._

" _Dean!" The kid called out over top of him._

" _What?" He ground out, his worry coming out as anger, something it often did._

" _Just listen, okay? It's bad. I know that."_

_Dean nodded, because that was the first remotely accurate thing Sam had said so far._

" _I went to the clinic less than an hour ago—_

" _Why didn't you call me?"_

" _What were you going to do, man? You don't have a car and you can't really operate the crutches with those ribs. You going to crawl across town?" The teen asked with a smirk._

" _This isn't a fucking joke, Sam." He swore, sending him a look that immediately erased that smirk from his face._

" _Sorry." The younger boy muttered quietly._ " _Anyways, the doc at the clinic said that I have something called anhidrosis in my hands."_

_Dean waited for the explanation, because what the hell?_

" _It means that my hands don't sweat. They can't sweat. So, when they get really hot for long periods of time they over heat and start to blister." Sam explained carefully, looking down at his damaged fingers._

" _What do we do? How do we fix it?"_

_A small smile flashed across the young face, for what reason Dean didn't know._

" _It's always 'we' with you." Sam observed softly, sounding as though he was speaking to himself._

" _What?"_

" _Nothing." Sam shook his head._ " _The doc just gave me some ointment, gauze, and some meds. He said I need to keep my hands wrapped until they are done…oozing. To avoid infection."_

_Dean grimaced at the word as he returned his gaze to his little brother's injury._

" _It'll be a couple weeks maybe, but he said I'll be fine. Just no more intense heat exposure until my hands are healed." Sam finished off, ducking his head in shame and letting that shaggy brown hair hide his expression._

" _Don't worry about your stupid dish-washing job, Sam." Dean sighed with a roll of his eyes, his little brother's priorities were severely jacked up. He was about to inform him of that fact, when something hit him._

" _Wait, how did you get anhiderliouses?"_

" _Anhidrosis." Sam corrected with a snicker._

" _Gazuntite." Dean quipped._

_Sam laughed, and damn Dean would never tire of hearing that sound, but it didn't distract him from the answer he was looking for._

" _How'd you get it?" He repeated._

" _The sweat glands in my hands don't work." Sam replied simply._

_Dean raised an eyebrow, because that was not what he was asking._

" _Nerve damage." Sam tried again._

_Dean waited. He knew what the answer was. He knew exactly why his little brother's hands were oozing, bleeding, and blistered to hell. But he needed the kid to confirm that knowledge._

" _The frostbite."_

 _It was a whisper, made without eye-contact while Sam chewed on his lip._ _Dean had already known. Deep down he knew the second he saw the teen's hands that afternoon. But it still hurt to hear. Because this was his fucking fault._

" _Don't do that, Dean."_

_The request was soft and pleading. The older boy tore his eyes from his kid's damaged hands and looked up at his face, shifting over a little as the lanky boy sat down on the edge of the bed._

" _This isn't your fault. The frostbite wasn't your fault." He declared, two wide hazel orbs staring intently into green ones._

" _I should have known." Dean argued, cursing himself._

_He knew all the other long-term effects of the frostbite. He thought he had learned everything there was to know. He thought Sam would be safe in South Carolina. He thought as long as they were somewhere warm he didn't have to worry, at least not about the kid's hands._

_He thought wrong._

" _There's no way you could have known. The doc said that it's rare to get anhidrosis from frostbite." Sam insisted._

_The older boy shook his head. Sam was always making excuses for him._

" _Dean, we never could have known. And as long as I don't get another dish-washing job it will probably never happen again."_

" _Your hands will never get hot again?" He questioned in exaggeration._

" _No. It's not just hot. It's lengthy exposure to intense heat." Sam recited._

_Dean squinted over at him._

" _Walking out in the sun, or lighting a match isn't going to do anything. It has to be a lot hotter for a much longer period of time." His little brother specified._

" _Like washing dishes in steaming water for seven hours a night two weeks straight?"_

_Sam nodded shyly._

_Dean looked back at the damaged hands and cursed himself. He should have caught on earlier, shouldn't have let Sam go to work that night._

" _Where's the stuff for your hands?" He asked, because shit, he should have done that first._

" _Table." Sam answered._

" _Well are you waiting for me to go get it?"_

" _What? You think you could?" His brother challenged._

" _I think I could kick your ass."_

" _Sure." Sam mocked as he got up and walked over the table, grabbing a hold of the smaller paper bag. He carried it back held carefully between two fingers._

" _Sit." He ordered as he dropped the bag on the bed._

_Sam complied, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his brother's legs, angled towards him._

" _Hands." Dean demanded, digging through the bag, pulling out the ointment._

_He held his hands out palms down, looking up at Dean under his brown bangs._

_It was all Dean could do not to cringe at the sight of the injury. The palms may be the worst, but the tops of Sam's hands and his fingers sure weren't anything to brag about. The blisters were everywhere and they were indeed oozing._

"Dammit, _Sammy. You're a mess." He sighed, his touch feather-light as he spread the ointment over his little brother's damaged skin._

_Sam snorted and shook his head._

" _What?" The older boy asked, glancing up for the teen's hands to get a look at his face._

" _You're not much better, Dean. You've got broken ribs and your entire right leg is wrapped in plaster." He nodded towards the limb, as if Dean had somehow forgotten._

" _Yeah, well I got attacked by a fugly monster. What's your excuse?" He regretted the accusatory tone the moment he heard it._

_Sam made no reply, his gaze diverted to the floor._

" _I didn't mean- look I…"_ _Apologies had never been his thing._ " _I just want you to take better care of yourself, kiddo." he summed up._

" _You're one to talk." Sam snapped, sending the hunter an angry look._

" _What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's volume escalated in defense, but his actions remained gentle._ _Even when his brother pissed him off, he'd never do anything to intentionally harm him._

" _What I mean is that you're bitching about how I should take better care of myself, but you're worse than me!"_

" _Sam—_

" _The reason you're stuck in this bed is because you didn't look after yourself."_

" _Dude, I—_

" _I know you got hurt hunting. But the reason you got hurt is because you couldn't move fast enough."_

" _That's—_

" _And you couldn't run quick enough because you cracked your ribs a few days before and instead of sitting the hunt out like I begged you to, you just went ahead with it!"_

" _I know—_

" _Hell, I wouldn't have even had to get the diner job if you had taken care of yourself."_

 _Sam's last line hit him hard, probably because it was so painfully true. Dean kept his eyes on his hands, carefully turning them over to spread the ointment across his palms, where the worst of the damage was located._ _His brother hissed as he smeared the cream over a particularly nasty cluster of blisters._

" _Sorry." He whispered._

" _It's fine." Sam dismissed, his voice much softer than it had been just a moment ago._ " _Look, I just…" The teen sighed, at an apparent loss for words._ " _I know how much you worry about me. I know how frustrating it is when the person you care about most doesn't seem to care about themselves. I know that because that's how I feel with you."_

_Sam was right. Dean couldn't deny it. He knew that the kid worried about him. He knew that he had ignored his brother's concerns about his ribs. He had told him he was fine and then they had gone on a hunt and his cracked ribs ended up broken, as well as his leg. He understood where Sam was coming from._

_Dean winced at his baby brother's flinch as he reached another oozing blister._ " _Sorry." He muttered instinctively._

" _You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault." The teen replied faintly._

" _Yeah Sam, I do." He insisted, looking up for a minute to catch the hazel eyes before returning to tend to his hands._

" _I get it. I'm always on you to look after yourself, and I- I guess I didn't realize that I'm not setting the greatest example." He stuttered out awkwardly._

" _You're not that bad, Dean." Sam stated. "I jus -I don't get why I have to worry about myself and you don't worry about yourself at all."_

" _It's different, Sam. Because of your hands." Dean replied lamely. Tugging out the gauze and beginning to gingerly wrap it around the damage._

" _It's not. It's not different." Sam protested, pulling his hands from his brother's grip._

_Dean looked over at Sam, which was apparently what the kid wanted, because he continued to speak as his puppy-dog look made the older boy's heart clench, the way it did every damn time the brat used it._

" _All you do is worry about me. So, if you're worrying about me and I'm worrying about me, then who the hell is worrying about you?" His little brother queried, his tone desperate as his eyes implored him to understand._

_Dean could see it in his face, the face that looked so much like the one of the child that Sam used to be, he could see the need the teen had for him to get what he was saying. He could see how much his big brother to needed him to comprehend his side of things._

" _Alright Sam, I get what you're saying. And I can't promise anything is going to change. I'm just used to worrying about you, you know?"_

_Sam nodded, disappointment crossing his features._

" _But I'll try."_

_The teen straightened up at that, eyes growing wide in both surprise and cautious optimism._

" _I will try to take better care of myself, but only if you promise to do the same."_

_Sam nodded fervently at the condition._

" _I will." He assured._

" _Good." Dean confirmed with a nod._

" _I'm sorry, about the job. I'm supposed to be the one looking after you and I fucked it up." Sam spat out, the self-loathing almost tangible._

" _Hey, whoah. No way, man. Don't you do that. This is on me, okay? It's my fault you were put in this situation in the first place."_

" _No, Dean. I didn't mean it when I said that." Sam interrupted urgently._

" _Maybe not, but you were right. If I had taken better care of myself, if he had listened to you, I wouldn't have gone on that hunt and gotten hurt even worse than I already was."_

" _You didn't know. You couldn't help it." Sam insisted, always his number one defender this kid. If Sam had it his way Dean would never be guilty of anything ever._

" _I could have and I should have. But I didn't. And I'm sorry for that." He declared honestly._

" _How about I don't blame you for getting yourself hurt, and you don't blame me for screwing everything up and losing my job."_

_It was a shitty deal. One that seemed to let Dean off the hook, but Sam seemed so hopeful that the older boy didn't have the heart to tell him how childish he was being._

" _Sure." He agreed half-heartedly. Not releasing any of the blame he deserved, but willing to allow his little brother to believe that he was as guilt-free as Sam seemed to always believe he was._

" _We're quite the pair." He remarked after a moment, nodding at their various injures as he gently tugged Sam's hands back towards himself and continued to wrap them._

 _His little brother chuckled._ " _How about no more injuries for the next few weeks?"_

" _No argument there." Dean agreed, becoming more serious upon seeing Sam's long fingers twitching in pain as he covered them with gauze._ " _How much does it hurt?" He asked, just as he finished bandaging the damaged hands._

" _Not a lot." Sam replied with a shrug._

" _One to ten?" He queried, realizing this was a question that was far too customary._

" _Four."_

" _Liar." He admonished._

" _I learned from the best." Sam responded with a cheeky smile._

_Dean could never stay mad at this kid._

" _You bring me a burger?" He asked, desperate to get that adoring puppy dog gaze off him, knowing he didn't deserve it, not for one bloody second._

" _Yeah. It's probably cold now. I'll toss it in the microwave."_

" _Well good luck with that. You're wrapped up like a mummy." Dean joked._

" _I'm sure that I can manage, gimp." Sam laughed, getting to his feet._

_Dean watched his little brother as he struggled to take the contents from the take-out bag and transfer them into the crappy motel microwave._

_The kid was right._

_He was constantly telling Sam to take better care of himself, even though Dean did a shit job of looking after himself. But what Sam didn't get, what he couldn't possibly understand, was that he was the little brother. Dean didn't have time to worry about him, he had to put his kid first._

_Did he want to sit out on the hunt a few days after he had his ribs cracked during a salt-and-burn? Hell yeah. He loved the hunt, but he was in enough pain that he would have rather spent the evening chilling out in front of the TV. But that wasn't an option, because he had a little brother to look out for._ _John could be a very single-minded hunter, out for the kill at any cost, often not taking the time to focus on his well-being or that of other. And if Dean were perfectly honest, he didn't trust the man with his kid. He would never have been able to forgive himself if he had backed out of the hunt and Sammy had gotten hurt. He had to be there to watch the kid's back. So maybe Dean sucked at looking after himself, but that was okay with him, because he was pretty fucking great at looking out for his little brother._

_Well, usually._

_Dean had slacked off this time. He had let the fact that they were in a warm state ease his mind. He had let his guard down, whether it was due to the injuries or the fact that he was enjoying having his little brother take care of everything, he didn't know._

_Whatever the reason, it was unacceptable._

_He had to watch out for Sammy at all times._ _And he had got to make sure he was watching out for himself as well._ _Dean was thinking the second task was going to be a whole lot more difficult._

_His kid was a stubborn little shit._

_\--------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Well?" Sam asked, still waiting for an answer.

Dean will say it again, stubborn little shit.

"I don't have to worry about myself, because I'm not a trouble magnet." The excuse may have been lame, but it was all he could come up with on short notice.

"You're full of shit, Dean."

It wasn't said out of anger, but there was a definite bite to his little brother's words.

"What do you want me to say, Sam? You want me to make promises I can't keep? You want me to cover myself in bubble-wrap?"

"No, I want you to give a fuck!"

Dean startled slightly at the shout.

"I want you to care about yourself." Sam added in a much softer tone, much like the one he had used all those years ago when he was pleading for Dean to take better care of himself.

"I do care. Okay? I may not be great at taking it easy, or being cautious, or any of that, but I'm not self-destructive." Dean stated in all honesty.

He glanced to his right, Sam seemed to be taking in what had been said.

"Okay. And I care about myself too, Dean."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you so careless?"

"Oh gawd, are we going to go through this again? Didn't we do this a couple days ago on the way here? I get it, okay? I need to go over my priorities. I need to be more careful. I already promised you that I would." Sam stated, sounding both whiny and reassuring at the same time.

"Good. And part of that is not standing out in the cold scraping ice of the Impala and letting your hair freeze into little icicles."

"Fine, I promise to never again scrape ice off the car."

His brother sounded so sarcastic Dean had to glance over to make sure he wasn't actually the teenager he was used to hearing that tone come out of.

"That's a start." The older man declared with a nod.

Sam huffed, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed.

They drove in silence for a moment. Dean was busy surveying the streets, keeping an eye out for the diner that was supposedly located somewhere in the iced-over town.

Sam was busy pouting.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of a long sigh, but it seemed to be one that was released without too much attitude.

"You're never going to change, are you?" His brother queried, almost casually.

Dean looked over at him, not sure where he was heading with that question.

"You're always going to waste all of your worry on me." Sam stated.

Dean didn't really agree with the wording that was used, but he couldn't argue with the main point.

Sam took his lack of response as confirmation.

"Alright. You worry about me. And I'll worry about you."

Dean found a strange sort of peace in that simple declaration. He glanced back over at the young man next to him; Sam was staring out the front windshield, his face no longer held that frustrated grimace, but rather a comfortable calm.

Perhaps Dean wasn't the only one who found peace in those words, or that reality.

"Bitch." He muttered.

"Jerk." Sam replied, and driver could hear the smile in his voice.

This stubborn little shit was Dean's focus, he was his number one priority, and no amount of bitching or whining was ever going to change that.

Dean would worry about Sam and Sam would worry about Dean. They would look out for each other. Because that was what they had always done.

That was what brothers did.


	9. Chapter 9

It didn't take too long to find the small diner in town, and thankfully it looked to be the one building that actually had power.

"Alright, short-stop, let's go grab some grub and see if we can scrounge up any info on the haunted house."

"Short-stop? You know I'm taller than you, right?" Sam reminded his brother with a smirk, knowing full well how pissed off he still was about the younger boy's ridiculous height.

"Whatever, man." Dean grumbled as they exited the Impala.

Sam chuckled at his obvious irritation, a shiver running through him as they approached the small building. Dean held the door open, ushering his little brother inside, thinking violent thoughts towards the bitter weather. They grabbed a seat near the center of the diner, where they always sat when trying to overhear significant information. Dean watched as the young man across from him removed his gloves, setting them on the table and rubbing his hands together.

"Cold?" He asked, attempting a casual tone.

His brother wasn't fooled for a moment.

"I'm fine." Sam declared with a roll of his eyes.

"Sure, you are. Alright, you sit tight. Order us some food. I'm going to go talk up the room." He instructed, looking around at the customers and calculating who would most likely know the names and locations of the teenagers who had been fooling around with the – quite possibly - haunted house.

"Why am I the one who has to sit tight?" The younger hunter questioned.

Dean was tempted to point out the obvious, because Sam was cold and skinny and Dean wanted him to sit and warm up, but he knew that such a reply would start quite the fight with the stubborn brat. So, he took a different approach.

"Hey man, if you want to walk around and talk it up, go for it. I have no problem staying here and placing our orders. Two bacon-sausage burritos coming up." He barely managed to hide his smirk as he watched Sam's expression morph into one of utter disgust.

"Fine, whatever. I'll sit here." He gave in, knowing that Dean would order something he hated if he stayed.

"If that's what you want, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

The older boy laughed at the bitch-face and made to leave.

"And if you order me something fruity, I will cram it up your ass." He threatened over his shoulder.

"You're disgusting." His little brother muttered.

Dean wandered around to several tables, finding out useless tidbits of small town information. All he got was that the house was about fifty years old, it had been empty for the past decade and was presumably haunted. On occasion lights could be seen flickering inside, that and people disappearing, had everyone assuming supernatural entities were involved. Dean did not find any information on the name or location of the 'hooligans' that had recently visited the building in question, but he did know a whole hell of a lot about this old lady's neighbour, Betsy, and her nasty cat. The downside to talking to the local residents of such small towns, was all the unnecessary information that was gathered.

Deam made his way back to the table not surprised that their breakfast had already been delivered. Sam was talking to the waitress, fumbling in his pocket for something.

"Dean, Carrie says she has the phone number of one of the witnesses. Could you jot it down?" Sam asked him as he approached.

Dean noticed his brother's forged FBI badge set out on the table, making it clear the kid had been gathering information from the waitress.

"Do I look like your secretary?" He responded, giving the young woman a wink before taking his seat.

"Just write it down. Please."

The please threw Dean off. He raised his eyebrow in curiosity at his little brother. The kid was the one who always carried around the notepad, so he really didn't get why he wasn't making use of it. With a shrug, he pulled out his phone and punched in the number dictated to him by the waitress.

"Thanks for your help, Carrie." Sam said sincerely.

Dean watched as the waitress blushed, making it clear that his little brother's shaggy hair and puppy-dog eyes had made quite an effect. Not that the moron would notice.

"No problem, I will be back with your coffee in just a moment." She replied, making her way back towards the kitchen.

"You learn anything?" The younger man asked, looking down at his fruit salad, hands still buried in his jacket pockets.

"Betsy's cat has a thing for digging up petunias." Dean stated.

"Anything useful?" Sam specified.

"Nothing we didn't already know. Fifty-year old vacant house with no significant history to speak of. You?" He asked, smiling down at the eggs, bacon, and sausage covering his plate.

"Just a phone number for one of the witnesses. Carrie went to school with her." He explained.

"Well if you ask me, you could have gotten two numbers." Dean pointed out with a waggle of his eyebrows, talking with a mouth full of food.

"Don't be an idiot, Dean." Sam declared sending a serious, almost dark, look his way and shutting him up immediately.

Too soon.

Too soon after Jess to be encouraging the kid to have some fun.

Dean wondered if it would ever _not_ be too soon.

"Why aren't you eating? That fruit salad not healthy enough for you?" He asked sarcastically as he watched the young man just staring down at his meal.

Sam barely had time to send him a bitch-face before the waitress returned to the table.

"Here you are." She said. She had a tray of food in each hand, so she simply lowered the tray with steaming mugs over the table and waited for them to remove their cups. Dean automatically reached out, giving the young women a polite nod before removing his coffee.

He noticed Sam pull his hand from his jacket and reach out, he moved slowly as he curled his fingers around the cup's handle. Dean squinted at the kid's hands, not seeing any discolouration or shake. The waitress gave his brother a curious look, pulling the tray away when she thought he had the beverage in his grip.

She thought wrong.

The cup fell from Sam's hand, dropping onto the table, covering everything in coffee, before falling to the ground and smashing into pieces. His little brother's face went bright red in embarrassment as the entire diner went silent and all eyes were on them.

"I'm sorry." The kid muttered, face flushed with humiliation as he struggled to wipe up the mess.

"I got it, Sam." Dean declared, pulling the barely held napkins from his hand and using them to soak up the hot beverage. "I'll take my meal and another fruit salad to go." He briskly informed the stunned waitress, who finally closed her gawking mouth and nodded, hurriedly grabbing his breakfast, which had managed to avoid the majority of coffee splatter, and making her way to the back.

"Give him your hands." Dean instructed quietly, getting to his feet and moving around the table to get closer to his brother.

Sam obeyed, keeping his gaze on the floor as he presented the troublesome limbs.

Dean gently wiped them free of coffee, cringing at the angry red marks left behind by the steaming hot liquid.

"They stiff?" He asked, finally piecing together the issue that properly explained the kid's strange behavior.

The shaggy head bobbed up and down in confirmation.

"Alright. You want to go out to the car? It's unlocked. I'll be there in a second." He suggested, knowing the young man was eager to get out from under all the questioning stares.

"Okay." He agreed, attempting to grab his badge off the table as he got to his feet.

"Just leave it. I got it."

"My gloves are there to."

"I see them, don't worry, buddy. I got it covered." He reassured, placing a hand on Sam's back and lightly pushing him toward the exit.

The young man moved quickly across the room, his head bent, hair covering his eyes, hiding his face from the nosy customers as he pushed open the door and stepped outside.

Dean finished cleaning up just in time to grab the two take-away containers the waitress brought.

"What's the matter with him? Is it some sort of disease?"

"What?" He bit out, both angered and appalled by the question.

"My grandfather has Parkinson's it seemed like-"

"It's not a disease." He growled, glaring into the woman's eyes, hating the pity he could see oozing out of them.

"Then what is it?" She stuttered out, taken aback by his apparent anger, but seemingly unable to control her curiosity.

"It's my fucking fault, that's what it is." He muttered as he dropped some cash on the table and made to leave. He ignored Carol, Catie, whatshername, as she yelled out that he'd paid too much. His eyes and his mind were trained on one person. The shaggy headed beanpole slumped over in the Impala's passenger seat.

Dean shook his head in sympathy, because why the hell couldn't this kid ever catch a break? But he set his face into a nonchalance expression as he dropped into the car. He set the food on the seat in between them and angled toward his little brother, who proceeded to stare down at his feet.

"Hands." He requested simply, waiting for his little brother to un-tuck them from his sleeves.

"Can we get out of here first?" He questioned softly, glancing over at the older man and then nodding towards the front.

Dean looked up, seeing the faces of the customers staring inquisitively out the diner windows at them.

"Assholes." He accused, sending a glare their way before starting up his baby and guiding her out of the parking lot, momentarily debating which direction to go.

"Head to the library. We need to look through the city records." Sam instructed him.

Dean was tempted to throw in the towel, ignore the stubborn kid, and just start driving south until they hit some significantly warmer temperatures. But Sam would never allow it, and he was past the age where he would simply obey orders, if he had ever even hit that age.

"They cold, or just stiff?"

"Just stiff."

Dean nodded, itching to check for himself, but recalling Sam's promise to be more careful and honest; he needed to trust the kid to follow through.

The stiffness sucked. It made it nearly impossible for the kid to get a grip on anything, even something as light as a coffee cup. It wasn't as severe or as unpredictable as the numbness, but it still sucked. It showed up on occasion when Sam's hands were chilled. His fingers would become stiff and uncooperative, it wasn't dangerous, but it was frustrating and often resulted in a great degree of embarrassment for his little brother.

As he roamed around the town in search of the library, he was reminded of a time when Sam's stiff fingers had caused him great distress.

\------------------------------------------------------------

 _They were in some no-name town in Oklahoma, well it had a name, just not one Dean bothered to remember. It was just him and his little brother. Their dad had gone off on a hunt up in North Dakota, further north than Dean would allow his little brother to travel in the month of February._ _He had thought about accompanying their father, so he wouldn't be stuck hanging around this crumby place for a couple of weeks, but he had priority number one to look out for._

_Sammy._

_They were in a very small town, small towns meant prying eyes, and prying eyes could lead to a call to child services. Needless to say, there was no way in hell Dean was leaving his little brother, a minor, alone for a few days, let alone a couple weeks._

_Besides, Bobby was watching John's back, so there was no need to worry._

_The job Dean managed to find wasn't all that bad either. He got a gig at a bar, it mostly just involved cleaning, but that was alright. The bar was quiet in the afternoons when he worked. Some people would come in for lunch and the small-town-drunks would spend the day half-passed out in a stool, but beyond that it was pretty empty. Dean swept the floor, cleaned tables, did some dishes, and on occasion served up a couple drinks. His manager was slack and even though Dean was only nineteen, he pretty much allowed to do what he wanted as long as he got the job done._ _So, when his cell rang as he was sweeping the worn wooden floor, Dean didn't worry about answering._

_"Hello." He greeted, not recognizing the number._

_"Is this Dean Winchester?"_

_The older boy straightened, a nervous energy settling over him._

_"Yes. Who is this?" He asked._

_"This is your son's school."_

_He didn't blink at the assumption, it has been made multiple times, and was hardly his main concern._

_"What's wrong with Sam?" He questioned, the worry growing in his gut._

_"He's sitting here in mt office."_

_"Why?"_

_"Mr. Winchester, I feel that it would be best if you would come in and we could sit down and discuss your son's behaviour."_

_"Behaviour? What are you talking about?" His confusion was apparent._

_"Your son has been blatantly disobedient."_

_"You're talking about Sam? Sam Winchester?" Dean searched for clarification, because that just wasn't right. Sure, he was a teenager, he was stubborn and moody, but he was not disobedient...never with teachers anyway._

_"Yes. Mr. Winchester. I would really prefer having this conversation face to face. If you would come by my office tha-"_

_"I'm on my way." He declared, closing his cell and returning the broom to the closet._

_"Eric." he called out, as he walked in the back towards his boss' office._

_"Yeah Dean, what do you need?" The older man inquired, peaking up over his computer screen._

_"I need to head out."_

_"Come again?" Eric asked, eyebrows raised._

_"My little brother's school called. I have to go over there." He explained. The older man was already aware that Dean was looking after his brother, he had to tell him in order to explain why he couldn't work overnights. Sam may be old enough to be on his own, but that didn't mean that he was okay with leaving him alone at a seedy motel every night all night._

_"Is he alright?"_

_"I'm not sure." He answered honestly. "I don't really know how long I will be, but since my dad's out of town I have to go. I wi-_

_"Dean, it's alright, man. Go take care of your little brother. Just call if you won't be able to make it back for the rest of your shift."_

_Dean nodded his thanks and rushed from the building, hastily dropping into the Impala and booking it to the high school._

_Something must have been wrong with Sam. He never got into trouble at school. The kid was a total nerd and a complete browner. He had always respected and obeyed his teachers._ _Minus the fact that even in his teenage years his brother always managed to be the victim of the school douche-bags, Sam was a model student._

_Something was wrong._

_It didn't take long to get to the principal's office once he arrived at the school – he remembered where it was from when he had gone to enroll Sam in his classes._

_"Hey, I'm Dean Winchester. I got a call from the principal about Sam."_

_He informed the secretary._

_"Oh yes of course. He is expecting you, go right in."_

_He marched past the older women and right into the office._

_An angry looking man was sitting behind a large desk. He looked to be about John's age, but fifty pounds heavier, with a lot less hair, and a huge pair of glasses._ _Sam was seated across from the large figure. His head was bowed, long hair hanging before his face as he ducked into his sweater, as though he could use it as a shell and hide inside of it._

_He looked so damn small._

_"I'm Dean Winchester. We talked on the phone."_

_At the sound of his voice he watched Sam relax, his tense posture easing; but he didn't raise his head or look Dean's way._

_Never a good sign._

_"You are Mr. Winchester?" The man said, tone dripping in sarcasm and disbelief._

_The guy was a dick._

_"There is no way you are Samuel's father. You aren't a day over twenty-five."_

_"I am Sam's legal guardian. You don't believe me? Look it up." He responded flatly._

_And, like he said, this guy was a dick. So, of course he looked it up._

_The principal didn't proceed with the discussion until after he had called the secretary and received documented confirmation that he was, in fact, Sam's legal guardian._

_"Alright Dean, please take a seat."_

_"What's the problem?" He asked, reluctantly dropping into the chair next to his little brother, across the desk from the older man._

_"Samuel-_

_"It's Sam." The older boy corrected, not failing to notice the brief side-long glance his little brother sent me, a tiny smirk flashing across his face._

_"Pardon me?" The principal asked, his patience clearly limited._

_"His name is Sam." Dean repeated, sending the man an even look._

_"Fine._ _**Sam** _ _has been exhibiting some, frankly, unacceptable behaviour."_

_Dean eyed his little brother, not liking the way the kid was hiding his face from view with that long hair._

_"His class was taking a quiz and Sam refused to participate."_

_Dean quirked an eyebrow, because that just wasn't like the younger boy._

_"And when his teacher instructed him to participate, Sam refused."_

_Dean was baffled, sending his brother a look that said as much, but he didn't see it, he was far too busy examining his shoes._

_"Now I don't know what sort of educational institutions you are accustomed to…" The man faded off as he eyed Dean's little brother, no doubt taking in the second-hand clothing, with all its stains and tears, not too mention the way it draped off the thin teenager._

_What a dick._

_"But this sort of defiance is not acceptable in my school." The principal finished._

_"Did you ask him why?" Dean questioned, attempting to keep his growing contempt for the asshole out of his tone._

_"I did. He made up a ridiculous story. Some sort of fabricated nonsense about frostbite and stiff fingers."_

_Now it made sense._

_Everything became clear as day._

_Sam hadn't disobeyed. If the kid's hands were stiff he probably wasn't able to properly hold the pen, let alone write legibly with it. He had probably tried to explain himself. He had likely done his best to make his teacher and the sonuvabitch principal understand, but they refused to believe him. Instead, they dragged Sammy into the office and called him a disrespectful, disobedient, liar; all the while staring at the kid as though he were some stain upon their precious 'educational institution'._

_"Now, there are two possible solutions. Either Sam chooses to acknowledge his unacceptable behaviour and writes a letter of apology, or he is suspended for the remainder of the week. Either way he will be sent home for the day."_

_Dean clenched his jaw, doing his best not to tell that bastard exactly where he could shove his apology. He knew he couldn't lose it, not the way he wanted to. Sam needed to go to school - hell, he liked going to school - and Dean wouldn't take that from him by ripping out his principal's lungs._

_The older boy had almost convinced himself not to teach the man across form him a lesson, but all that changed the next time the fucktard opened his goddamn pie-hole._

_"Sam, the display you put on today was disgraceful, made worse only by your lying. You are a horrible example, disobedient, and disrespectful. Your rebellious attitude will not be permitted in his school. You are a bad seed, Sam Winchester. You need to change your ways, or you're out."_

_By the end of the principal's spiel Dean's fists were clenched in anger. He watched as the man looked over his little brother, staring down at him like Sam was nothing more than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Sam was looking up at the man through his bangs and Dean could tell his kid's face was red with embarrassment and shame._

_How dare some asshole make his little brother feel ashamed._

_How dare he call Sammy a "bad seed."_

_This kid was nothing but good._

_He was loyal, honest, kind, selfless, and good, so damn good._

_Dean got to his feet slowly, glaring at the source of his fury._

_"Sam, give me a minute with your principal." He ordered, placing a gently hand on the teen's shoulder._

_"Dean, it's okay. I'll write the letter. It's fine." Sam insisted, hazel eyes finally staring fully into green ones. The kid could clearly sense his brother's anger and was doing his best to ease it, but Dean could also see the apology on the young face, the guilt in his expression._

_Guilt that wasn't his._

_Guilt that had been forced on him._

_For no fucking reason._

_"Give us a moment." Dean instructed sternly, in a no-argument tone, but he followed it with a half-smile, to easy some of Sam's worries and let him know he wasn't going to kill the piece-of-shit principal - even though he would love nothing more._

_Sam sighed, reluctantly standing, his hands hidden inside his sleeves the way they had been since he first walked into the office._

_"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinsley." His brother stated miserably, before he shuffled from the room._

_Dean grit his teeth, because this sonofabitch didn't deserve an apology, let alone one that sounded so bloody sincere._ _Sam had barely made it from the room before the older Winchester was turning to face the principal._

_"Alright listen here, asshat-_

_"Excuse me." The principal stood with a shocked expression._

_"Sam was not lying. He got frostbite awhile back. And yes, his hands get stiff. They get so stiff that he can't make a fist let alone grip a fucking pen. But I am sure you already know all of that. I am sure that Sam already told you all of that. But you didn't listen, because you had already pegged him as a delinquent. You took one look at him and decided that he was a 'bad seed.' Well you don't know shit about my little brother."_

_"Now you listen here-_

_"No, you listen! I'm not one of your scared students. I'm not intimidated by you, you piece of shit. How dare you degrade my little brother, treat him like some little punk. Sam is a good kid and a great student. He pulls off straight A's, even though that shouldn't be possible with how often we move around. And if I ever hear that you've mistreated him again, I will march back in here and show you how a real bad seed behaves."_

_Dean strut from the room, ignoring the sound of his name being called._ _He knew that if he went back in there he was going to strangle that pompous-pig._

_"Come on Sam, let's go." He ground out as he walked past the kid standing outside the office._

_His brother followed him out to the Impala, backpack slung over his shoulder and hands tucked into his sweater._

_Dean turned the heater on in the car, even though he knew it would do nothing to help diminish the stiffness of the teen's fingers, they had to wait for it to go away on its own._

_"How'd your hands get chilled?" Dean questioned in an attempt at calm, even though his jaw was still angrily clenched, because the stiffness only occurred after the frostbitten area had been exposed to the cold._

_"In Phys ed. we went outside to play soccer. It was fun, and I didn't feel that cold, so I really didn't notice the chill until he got back inside. Thought I was fine, my hands were only a little shaky, but by the time I got to my next class...my fingers wouldn't curl." Sam muttered, glaring down as his hidden appendages._

_Dean sighed. he wanted to give the kid a lecture on being more careful, but he couldn't bring myself to do it. Sam was already beating himself up over everything that happened, and he saw no need to add to the guilt by ranting to him about things he already knew._

_"I'm sorry." Sam mumbled softly, staring up at the older boy with those stupid puppy-dog eyes that were just oozing apology._

_"Shut-up, Sam." He responded, but at the teen's dejected sigh he felt the need to elaborate._ _"I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault. None of it is."_

_"I should have ju-_

_"None of it!" Dean interrupted forcefully._

_A side-long glance told him that his brother was frustrated with not being able to further explain, but there was no way Dean could handle listening to the kid blame himself for more shit he wasn't responsible for._

_"Look man, like you said, you didn't know that your hands were chilled until it was too late. I know you would have taken that quiz if you could have, and I know that you tried your best to explain the situation to your teacher and that jack-ass of a principal."_

_"Yeah, I know, but-_

_"What the hell, man?!" Dean hollered, because why wasn't this kid getting it?_ _"None of this was your fault, nothing leading up to this was your fault. How are you not getting that? Do you want me to make a list? Because I swear I'll do it. I will make a list of all the things that are not your fault. Like the fact that there is a cool breeze in the air, or that you had gym outside today, or that you are too fricken tiny for my old clothes, or that your principal is a total-_

_"Dickwad?"_

_Dean glanced to the passenger side, smirking when he saw those damn dimples on the young boy's face as he smiled. "Yeah, exactly." He agreed._

_"So, do I have school tomorrow?" Sam asked, no doubt wondering if Dean had gotten him expelled._

_"I'm not really sure, probably not." He admitted regrettably. Not regretting what he had said, because that douche-bag needed to be put in his place, but regretting that it would likely lead to Sam's suspension._ _"I'll let it cool for a couple days and then I'll go back in and work it out." He promised._

_"Thanks." Sam said genuinely, he probably knew how much restraint it would take for his big brother to walk back into that building and not beat the shit out of that fucktard._

_"Did you have to leave work?" The kid asked a moment later, the disappointed tone of his voice telling Dean that he was already aware of the answer._

_"Yes, which is also not-_

_"Not my fault. Yeah, I got it." Sam responded with a dramatic teenage eye roll._

_"Well it's about damn time."_

_"You have to go back?"_

_"Yup, you can either come with me, or I can drop you off at the motel first."_

_"I'd be able to come? I'm not really old enough to be in there, Dean."_

_"I know, but no one is really around at this time of day, and I've only got a few hours left on my shift." He shrugged, thinking that Eric probably wouldn't object to the little squirt hanging around as long as he stayed out of trouble._

_"Okay, I'll come." Sam said, a little bit of excitement shining through those two hazel orbs of his._ _"I can help you out too, once my fingers start working again."_

_"Sure, sounds good."_

_And it did. It sounded good._

_It sounded good that, at least for the moment, his little brother wasn't taking blame for every screwed-up aspect of their lives._ _It sounded good that his fingers would start cooperating again._ _It sounded good that he would come help-out his big brother._ _It sounded good that Dean could hang out with his little brother._ _It all sounded pretty damn good._

_Fuck that principal._

_He didn't know anything about Sam._

_Sammy was smart, honest, and hard-working._ _He was the furthest thing from a disgrace._ _And he sure as hell wasn't a "bad seed."_ _Sam was good, he had always been good, down to his very core._ _And he would always be that way._

_Because he was Sam._

_He was Dean's kid._

_And he was the greatest thing that had ever happened to the older boy._

_\---------------------------------------------------------------_

"Dean, you just passed the library."

The driver was pulled from memory lane by the information. "Oh." He said, looking into the mirror to his left and seeing the sign for the small town's library. "Your hands any better?" He questioned as he looked for somewhere to turn the car around.

"Not really, it's only been a couple minutes, but they'll get there." Sam told him, as though he was the one who needed to be reassured.

"You don't need to be embarrassed, you know, when that happens." Dean pointed out, glancing to his right to be sure the young man listened and understood.

Sam snorted, shaking his head.

"What's so funny?" The older man asked in irritation, because he hadn't said anything humorous.

"I just don't get it, how are you not embarrassed, man? I mean, I make this big mess and you literally have to clean up after me like I'm five years old, because I can't manage to do it myself." Sam stated miserably.

"Oh please, you spilled a little coffee. So, what? It's nothing compared to the mess you used to leave in your diapers."

"Oh gross." His brother groaned, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Just stating the facts, Sammy." Dean smiled

"Well it's not really the same thing, seeing as how I'm not a baby anymore."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion."

"Dean." Sam moaned in exasperation, clumsily smacking him in the arm.

Dean snickered at his own sense of humour as he pulled into the library parking lot and turned off the Impala.

"Hey, Sam, seriously though." He waited for those two hazel eyes to connect with his before he continued. "You never need to be embarrassed about your hands, not for me and not around me, or anybody else. Because I don't give a shit, and anyone who does can take it up with me." He declared, staring intently into the puppy dog eyes directed his way, being sure his little brother knew that he wasn't kidding.

"You going to rip their lungs out?" Sam asked, his soft smile telling Dean that he got the message and was now giving him an out to the chick-flick moment he had created.

An out which he gratefully accepted.

"You bet your ass I will." He guaranteed with a nod.

Because that was what he did, he hunted monsters. And anybody who would hurt someone as kind, forgiving, loving, and good as his little brother, had to be a monster.

Sam didn't ask for frostbite, and he sure as shit didn't ask for everything that came along with it. He didn't deserve to be insulted, judged, degraded, or gawked at for any reason, least of all his uncooperative limbs. He didn't deserve the shit-storm of a life he had been given.

Sammy deserved the best.

Because he was a good person. He was the best fucking person that Dean knew. And he would do everything in his power to make things better for him. Even if that meant ripping out a million sets of lungs.


	10. Chapter 10

"Go back to the other page."

"Which other page?"

"The other one."

"Sam, there are like fifty pages here, you are going to have to be a little more specific."

His little brother released an exasperated sigh before clarifying.

"The one with the names of the original builders on it."

"I thought we already agreed the problem wasn't with the first owners, seeing as how people didn't start disappearing until last year." Dean said as he sifted through all the papers spread across the table. Sam's fingers were still too stiff to be of any use, so he towered behind him with his hands shoved in his pockets, dictating his every move. It was annoying as hell, but necessary.

"I just want to see how long they owned it before the next people moved in."

"Okay, ummm, looks like they lived in it for about fourteen years." He declared once he finally found the damn page.

"Does it say why they sold it?" Sam asked, looming over top of the shorter man seated at the library table. Dean had told the kid to just take a seat, but the dork preferred to stand behind him so he could see everything.

Like a hawk.

"Apparently, the owner's wife, a Stephanie Jennings, passed away, so her husband sold the place."

"How'd she die?"

"Well that would be in the obituaries." Dean muttered, searching through all the documents. "Cancer." He announced upon finding the proper page.

Sam hummed in thought.

"I doubt she'd be haunting the place."

His brother grunted in agreement behind him, and Dean could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"What about the most recent owners." He suggested.

Dean began the search for the required text.

"You know it'd be easier to find stuff if you actually organized the research." Sam commented.

"Well not everyone is OCD." He replied distractedly.

"I'm not OCD, I'm just organized."

"You're obsessive."

"No, I-

"Here it is. The last people to own it were James and Ellie Barnes and that was...twelve years ago. And before you ask, no, they didn't die mysteriously, they didn't die in the house at all actually. They just moved and couldn't find a buyer, so they sold it to the bank and the place remained empty."

"They didn't report any unusual activity? Noises, flashing lights? Anything like that?" Sam inquired, his chin nearly touching Dean's head as he bent over him.

"That would be in the police reports." He grunted, sifting through the strewn documents for the millionth time.

"Dean, if you were just more-

"If you say the word organized one more time, I will cram this page down your throat." He threatened, finally finding the proper report.

Sam chuckled behind him, before moving to drop down on the chair next to him.

"No strange activity came from the house until a few years ago." Dean stated, placing the paper down in front of his little brother.

Sam instinctively went to reach for it, but stalled, as if suddenly remembering his fingers were too stiff, and shoved the useless limbs back into his pocket. Dean made no comment, the frustration on his brother's face was apparent and he had no desire to make it any worse.

"Alright, so the problem isn't the owners." Sam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Doesn't look like it." Dean agreed.

The younger man looked up from the report he had been studying and cast his eyes over the other pages littered about.

"What are you looking for?" Dean asked, knowing he would have to be the one to find it and pull it out.

"I'm not certain." Sam huffed. "You sure the witness didn't say anything about strange sounds or-

"I'm telling you, man, I called her. All she said was that her two friends went into the house and never came back out. They haven't been seen since. That's all she knows." He explained patiently, like he had multiple times already.

Sam was annoyed that he hadn't been the one to make the call. After all, he was the one who often did the whole witness-coddling-interview thing, but this time they hadn't been able to go see the young woman because she was out of town. Therefor a phone call was necessary. Sam hadn't been unable to properly grasp the cell and had disgustedly refused the older boy's offer to hold it up to his ear. So, Dean had conducted the interview, much to his little brother's disappointment.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't know okay?! This isn't how I do research. I need to have everything in front of me and be able to flip through pages and re-read things!" His brother's voice rose in irritation.

Dean glanced around the library to be sure they weren't attracting too much attention, but other than the librarian, there really wasn't anyone else in sight. Most people probably didn't think the building had power after the ice-storm last night.

"Look, man, he I that your-

"No, Dean, you don't. You don't get it. Research has always been the one thing I was good at! Even when we were kids. But now I can't even do that much, thanks to my screwed-up hands!" Sam snapped, his voice hushed but tone sharp as he glared in the other hunter's direction.

Dean knew the anger in the hazel eyes was not aimed at him, but rather the situation, so he took no offense.

"I can't hunt, I can't interview witnesses, and now I can't even research. What the hell am I good for?"

"Sam, it'll pass. The stiffness always passes, and the second it does you can interview, hunt, and geek-out all over this shit." Dean promised, sweeping his hand over the covered table-top.

"Yeah, I know. I just feel so useless." His brother confessed softly, dropping his gaze to the ground, his hair falling before his face.

Dean paused, thinking of a way to correct Sam without turning this into a Hallmark moment.

How do you go about casually telling someone that just by breathing they made your life better?

That they couldn't possibly be useless because they were the reason you got out of bed every damn day?

How do you tell someone that even **if** they weren't a brilliant researcher or a skilled hunter, that they would still matter more to you than anyone else on the planet?

"Hey, you remember right after your frostbite? When your hands were all wrapped up for a couple of weeks?" He questioned, ducking down to try and get into his brother's lowered line of sight.

Sam glanced up at him from underneath all those bangs, a look of interest painted across his face.

"Yeah, what about it?" He asked.

"You remember how I had to help you with everything? How you couldn't really do much?"

"Yes, Dean, I remember." Sam spat out bitterly, his gaze returning to the floor.

"You remember what I told you?" He continued.

A questioning expression met Dean as his little brother looked back up.

"Not really, that was like ten years ago."

"Eight." He corrected thoughtlessly. Dean got a small dimply smirk for that, not sure why, but his heart warmed just a little at the sight.

"So, what'd you say that was so important?" Sam encouraged, knocking his knee against his brother's after a moment of silence.

"Well if you don't remember, clearly it wasn't that significant." Dean remarked teasingly, regretting the playful barb at the fall of his brother's face.

"I don't remember everything, dude, but that doesn't mean that it didn't matter or that-

"I was joking. You were young and still on pain meds, I'd be surprised if you could remember anything I said." He reflected with a grin.

The young man shook his head, but maintained an expectant stare.

As Dean recalled the words he had spoken, he thought back to the situation that made them necessary.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

_By the time they arrived in Florida, Dean was exhausted. He had driven non-stop the entire way from Michigan, twenty-one hours of travel divided only by short stops to fill up the tank and coax soup into his little brother. Sam needed warmth and his big brother was desperate to provide that for him. Even wrapped in his sweater and his new winter coat and the blanket Dean jacked from the motel, the teen's body still shook with cold on occasion._

_Dean pulled up beside the first nice hotel he came across upon entering the warmer state. Sam would need some time to heal-up and he should be able to do that in comfort. He glanced over to his right and smiled fondly at the young teen sleeping slumped against the door._

_"Be right back, Sammy." He promised as he quietly climbed from the vehicle and went to get them a room._

_Dean cursed the cool night air as he made his way inside, it didn't affect him much, but he knew that it would feel down right freezing to the hypothermic kid in the car. Florida may not be as frigid as Michigan, but it was still the middle of January._

_Hotels, nice ones, were very different from the motels they normally frequented. They didn't smell of smoke and sex, they had elevators and room service, indoor pools and free towels; they were luxury by comparison. Dean got them a room on the bottom floor, it had a kitchenette, large bathroom, two queen beds, and there was a window that looked out on the parking lot so that he could keep an eye on his baby._

_He grabbed both their bags from the trunk and placed them inside the room before going to get Sam. The older boy cautiously opened the door, sliding his hand in its place to prevent the lanky body from toppling out onto the tarmac. The shift jarred his little brother and two bleary, hazel eyes peaked out at him._

_"Dean?" The kid rasped softly._

_"Yeah, kiddo. I'm right here. I'm just going to get you inside."_

_Sam nodded, compliantly leaning against the broad chest as Dean scooped him up. The fact that the kid made no effort to get to his feet and travel the distance on his own was an attest to how truly exhausted he was._

_Dean hefted the boy up into his arms, getting a firm hold on him, being sure not to dislodge the blanket wrapped around the thin frame. The second he pulled him fully from the Impala, Sam scrunched up and nuzzled closer to his brother, somehow still able to feel the cool air under all those layers._

_Dean held his kid protectively against his chest as he walked into the hotel. The receptionist gave them a curious look, but smiled once she saw the shaggy head resting on his collarbone. Sam looked so much younger than his fourteen years, swaddled in a large blanket and cradled in the older boy's arms._ _Looking down at the young teen, Dean couldn't see much, the long brown hair curtaining the young face, but he was able to catch of glimpse of his discoloured nose; it was pale with shades of green at the tip and the skin was dry and peeling. Sam's hands were far worse off, but the frostbite on his nose was still third degree and it looked painful. A flow of guilt surged through him at the sight of the injury, but he swallowed it down, because that was not what his little brother needed right now._

_Dean entered the room and placed Sam gently on the bed furthest from the door, smiling down once his eyes cracked open and he stared up at his big brother._

_"Hey buddy." He greeted softly, not entirely sure how lucid the injured teenager was._

_"Hi." Sam croaked tiredly, a shadow of a smile crossing his pale face._

_"How you feeling?" Dean questioned, plopping next to him on the bed._

_"Good." Sam lied, two dimples coming through in an effort to be reassuring._

_"Sam." He admonished not unkindly, waiting for the truth._

_"I'm tired and cold, and a little hungry." He admitted._

_"I'll bet, you slept through lunch. I'm going to order some soup, what kind do you want?" He asked, grabbing the room-service menu and looking at their options._

_"Soup again?" Sam asked, his nose scrunched up. "I had that for breakfast and dinner last night, and that's all they'd let me eat at the hospital._

_"That's because it warms you up and it's easy on your stomach. We can try some more interesting food tomorrow, but for now we are sticking with soup."_

_"Why?" Sam whined petulantly._

_"Because the doc said to stick with liquids for a couple days." Dean stated simply, having no interest in elaborating on the reason for that decision._

_Malnourishment._

_Sam's lack of food intake over the last week messed with his body and the doctor informed him that he couldn't go from eating nothing for days to return to his regular eating habits, they would have to take it easy._

_So, that was what they would do._

_"They've got chicken noodle, broccoli cheese, and mixed vegetable." Dean left out the tomato, because neither of them needed that reminder._

_"Chicken noodle, I guess." Sam sulked as he wormed around the bed, struggling to sit up._

_"Here, let me help." Dean offered, gripping the boney shoulders and pulling Sam into a seated position._

_"I could have done it." His brother grouched._

_Dean made no comment, understanding how a fourteen-year-old with a massive independent streak would be frustrated at requiring help to perform such a simple task._

_"Chicken noodle it is."_ _Dean stood up and grabbed the phone, punching in the room service number and ordering soup and an orange juice._

_"Aren't you having anything?" The teen questioned once the call was ended._

_"Nah, I picked up a sandwich an hour ago when we stopped for gas. I tried to see if you wanted anything, but you wouldn't keep your eyes open long enough." Dean joked._

_"I think the meds make me tired." Sam explained, yawning halfway through his sentence as if to prove his point._

_"You think?" The taller boy chuckled._

_"Shut up." The kid grumbled as he untangled himself from the blanket._

_"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"_

_"Dean, I can't eat if I'm wrapped up like a burrito." Sam reasoned, pushing the comforter down to his legs._

_"You just said you were cold."_

_"I am, but according to the doctor you keep quoting, I'm going to be cold for the next few weeks no matter how many layers I have on." Sam argued._

_Dean rolled his eyes at the stubborn little brat, his irritated reply halted by the sound of a knock at the door._ _Dean accepted the food and made his way back to his little brother, who was now working on ridding of his winter coat. Without a word, he set the steaming bowl and glass of juice onto the bedside table and gently helped Sam pull his arms free from the jacket sleeves._

_"Careful." He warned, wincing as the bandaged hands snagged against the material._

_"It's fine." Sam ground out. His tone indicating that it was, in fact, not fine._

_"Alright, there you go." Dean tossed the coat off to the side and walked over to the thermostat, cranking it up. Sam may not have to wear four layers, but he needed to stay warm._

_A pained hiss sounding from behind him had Dean turning quickly. The young teen sitting against the headboard was struggling to maintain a hold of the bowl of soup, dropping it with a loud clatter onto the side-table._

_"Sam, what the hell?" Dean barked, rushing back over to the bed._

_"What?! I was just trying to pick it up." He defended, staring down furiously at the bandages that were now damp and tinged yellow._

_"Yeah, well that didn't really work out, did it?" Dean commented offhandedly._

_His little brother glared up at him, clearly not appreciative of him pointing out the obvious._

_"It's too hot." San mumbled, allowing Dean to pull his hands closer and start unwinding the layers of medical gauze. He was doing it quickly, knowing that if the hot liquid soaked through it was going to hurt like hell._

_"I know. I was going to help you eat it, if you had just waited a second." He explained calmly as one injured limb came into view. He made an effort not to physically cringe at the site of the discoloured fingers and visibly damaged skin._

_"So you could spoon feed me." Sam stated bitterly._

_"You didn't seem to mind this morning, or last night for that matter." He pointed out, starting in on unwrapping the other hand._

_"I was half-asleep, I barely remember that."_

_"And at the hospital."_

_"Same thing, I was on so many drugs I could hardly keep my eyes open. But I'm awake now, and I can feed myself."_

_Dean bit his tongue to withhold the sarcastic comment he wanted to release, the kid was just being flat-out unreasonable, but the last thing he wanted to do was add fuel to his already simmering fire._

_"I'll help you, it's not a big deal." He replied instead._

_"To be fed like a baby!? That is a big deal, because I'm not a baby and I can feed myself." The teen declared, wincing as he pulled his hands away._

_Dean stood up, tossed the old bandages into the trashcan, and rifled through his duffel to grab a roll of fresh gauze and the ointment given to them at the hospital._ _He returned to sit on the bed next to his little brother's blanket clad legs._

_"Hands." He requested when they weren't presented to him._

_"I'm not an invalid." Sam bit out._

_"I know. Give me your hands." Dean repeated, his tone level and relaxed even as his irritation grew._

_Why couldn't this kid just let his big brother take care of him?_

_The teenager didn't move, his limbs remaining on his left side, the one furthest from the older boy. Dean was tempted to just reach out and grab them, but he was worried that Sam would fight him on it and end up hurting himself._

_"Just let me re-wrap them okay? Sam, please." He knew the last word would get his kid, Dean rarely said it, saving it for occasions such as this._ _As he had predicted, his little brother's hard expression softened and he moved his hands back over._ _Dean's touch was feather-light as he spread the lotion over the damaged skin. Sam hissed a couple times, his fingers twitching in discomfort as they were coated in the medicinal gel._

 _"Sorry." He apologized honestly, hearing a light chuckle in response._ _"What's so funny?" He asked, not bothering to remove his attention from his careful ministrations._

_"Nothing, it's just that I'm being a jerk and you're the one apologizing."_

_"You're not being a jerk, Sam. You're just frustrated, and I get it. Really, I do, but you just- you've got to let me help you out for awhile. Alright? Just until you're healed." He stated, careful to sound gentle and not authoritative._

_"Who knows how long that could take." His brother muttered._

_"It'll take however long it takes. we won't rush it. The last thing we want to do is make this worse. You might have to be patient, but you'll heal." He assured the young boy gently smearing the ointment on his frostbitten nose before he began to encircle his hands in layers of gauze._

_"But it's not fair to you." The whisper was so soft Dean almost couldn't make it out, but his head shot up at what it was he thought he heard._

_"What?" He questioned, his hands stalling momentarily as he stared into the puppy dog eyes aimed his way._

_"Nothing. It's nothing." Sam declared with a dismissive shake of his head. "Can you hurry up? I'm kinda starving here."_

_Dean wanted to interrogate the kid, figure out what the hell he was getting at, because something about his statement irked the older boy. However, he couldn't help but react to Sam's announcement of a physical need._ _Especially since, Sam had - in fact - been starving just a few days ago._

_"I'm nearly finished." He reported, returning his concentration to bandaging the teen's hands._

_Once Sam was properly mummified, Dean set the medical supplies off to the side and focused his attention on tackling the next problem._

_Food._

_"Okay, so I've got a straw for the juice and if we place it near the end of the side-table you can just lean over and take a sip whenever. No need to pick it up."_

_Sam nodded at his observations and waited for him to continue as he stared warily at the still steaming bowl._

_"The soup we can tackle one of two ways. Either I could use the spoon and...uuhh... do what they did before."_

_Dean watched as the young boy's face morphed into displeasure at the idea of being spoon-fed._

_"Or I could hold the bowl and you could sip it out."_

_"Can't I just hold it myself, I mean I could probably-_

_"No, Sam. The bowl is hot and you really shouldn't be holding anything right now, especially not anything of an extreme temperature." Dean stated assertively, recalling what the doc had told him about the nerves in his brother's hands being all out of whack._

_"We could just wait until it cools." Sam suggested._

_"You want cold soup? Besides gripping the bowl at all will still be too difficult with the gauze."_

_Sam looked like he wanted to argue. Dean could practically hear the wheels in the dork's giant head turning as he thought up something to say, but he remained silent, nodding curtly in reluctant agreement._

_"Fine. How about you just hold it and I'll sip it."_

_"Sure." Dean agreed, trying not to sound as thankful as he felt._

_Taking care of Sam was always a hell of a lot easier when the kid allowed Dean to do it._

_It took some time, but eventually the bowl of soup was empty, Sam's bandages were still clean, and he had managed to maintain a small degree of dignity throughout the whole process; the teen even smiled at a couple of his brother's attempts at humour. Dean gave Sam his next does of meds and collected the dishes, setting them on the tray they came in right outside the door as he placed the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the handle._

_"You ready to turn in?" He asked._

_"Yeah, I just need to go to the bathroom first." Sam said, climbing from the bed._

_Dean had to stop myself from helping him. The kid needed some level of independence and there was very little he could do on his own. It was important to allow him to do the things that he was capable of._

_The lanky teenager plodded to the bathroom, stepping inside and closing the door part way, not able to grip the doorknob to tug it fully closed._ _Dean took the opportunity to change into sleep-clothes, eager to fall in to bed and get some much needed shut-eye. Twenty or so straight hours of driving made laying back on a comfy mattress and resting sound like heaven._

_"Dean?" The timid call sounded from the bathroom, and had he not grown up attuned to the owner of that voice, the older boy wouldn't have even heard it._

_"What do you need, Sam?"_

_The door inched open and a red-faced teenager stood on the other side._

_"It's my pants, you tied them up and I can't..." His brother faded off, looking down at the tiled floor._

_"Alright, it's no problem, buddy." Dean replied casually._

_Sweatpants had been the obvious option when he helped his brother change at the hospital. They were comfy, warm, easy to maneuver, and perfect for travelling in. Dean had to tie them on earlier because Sam had lost too much weight and they no longer stayed in place without being secured._

_Dean had untied them when they stopped to fill up one tank and empty the other, but the teenager had been half asleep that time; therefor shame and embarrassment hadn't come into play. It would seem that they had made their return now, though, and they had done so with a vengeance._

_He tugged the sweater up and quickly untied the knot, trying desperately not to notice for the hundredth time in the past few days how damn skinny his kid had gotten. He retied it loose enough the Sam should be able to push them down and pull them up without having to undo them or having to hold them in place._

_"There you go. Need anything else?"_

_"No, I can manage it from here, thanks." Sam mumbled, his gaze avoiding the watchful green one as he waited for Dean to make his exit._

_"Okay." The big brother nodded his head and left, pulling the door partially closed behind him._

_He flicked off the lights, checked the locks, and laid the salt lines before falling into bed. It took effort not to hover, but he knew it was best to allow Sam some independence. So, he reclined back and pretended that he wasn't calculating his little brother's every move as he made his way out of the bathroom and slid into bed, clumsily pulling the covers up with his bandaged hands._

_"Night Dean." He yawned, rolling onto his side, eyelids half-mast as he peaked over at the other boy._

_"Night Sammy."_

_The kid was sleeping before he could correct the version of his name he seemed to despise. He smiled at the young face across from him and closed his eyes, letting his exhaustion take over._

_Dean was startled from a peaceful sleep at the sound of glass shattering. Instantly pulling his hunting knife from under the pillow, he scanned the room for danger. Instead of any sort of threat, all there was to see was his little brother crouched down on the kitchen floor._

_"Sam? What the hell are you doing?" Dean croaked, voice rough with sleep as he rolled out of the bed._

_"It's nothing. I just dropped a cup. It's fine. Go back to bed." Sam stated, not bothering to raise his gaze from the floor as he struggled to pick up small shards of glass._

_"Here, I got it." He assured, placing his hands on the young teen's shoulders and attempting to move him away from the sharp pieces._

_"No! It's my mess and I'll clean it up." Sam declared defiantly._

_"It's not a big deal, Sam. I got it." He insisted, bending down and grabbing hold of the broken glass that his little brother was fighting to pick up with his wrapped appendages._

_"Leave it! I can do it." Sam snapped, swatting the older boy away._

_"You're being ridiculous." Dean announced, ignoring Sam's attempts to push him off as he proceeded to gather the shattered pieces._

_"No! I'm not. I'm fourteen fucking years old, I can clean up my own mess!" His brother hollered, his temper lost as he stood abruptly to face the taller Winchester._

_"Oh really?! How do you plan on doing that? You going to pick the glass up with your teeth? Because you and I both know that there is no way you can get a grip on it with your mummified hands."_ _Dean regretted his challenging tone the second he heard it. He had practically just told the most stubborn kid he knew that he couldn't do something._

_There was no better way to get Sam fired up then telling him he wasn't capable of something._

_Just as he figured, a defiant expression came over his little brother's face as he glared up at him._

_"I'll figure it out! Just back the hell off!" Sam ordered._

_Dean counted out slowly to five in his head, to calm himself before releasing a heavy sigh, and reluctantly taking a few steps away._

_Sam nodded curtly and stooped back down to proceed with his fruitless efforts._

_Watching the kid repeatedly trying and failing to pick the bits of glass off the floor would have been entertaining, humorous even, if it hadn't been for his growing frustration and evident distress._ _Dean pondered whether or not to step in and help out, but he was held back by the vicious reaction he felt his little brother would deliver if he were to intervene at all._ _The question was whether helping him was worth the anger that would be hurled his way._ _However, all consideration was thrown out the window the second he saw a teardrop drip off the end of the kid's nose._

_"Sammy." He sighed, crouching next to the struggling teenager._

_The teen ducked his head down further, his hair hiding his expression as he continued what he was doing._ _Dean_ _reached out slowly, so that Sam could see what he was about to do. His fingers encircled the too-thin wrists, effectively stilling his brother's movements._

 _"Hey." He called softly, waiting for eye-contact, which he did not receive._ _"Look at me kiddo."_

 _Dean slid the tips of his fingers under the stubborn boy's chin and tipped his face up._ _Two watery hazel eyes met his gaze, skittering away only to return again a short moment later._

_"What's going on, Sammy? I've seen you stubborn, and I get the whole independence thing, but this- this is different."_

_The teen's mouth opened and closed a couple times before he seemingly gave up on any verbal reply and shook his head._

_Okay, so they needed to start with a simpler question._

_"What were you doing out of bed at two in the morning?" Dean asked after glancing at the time lit up on the microwave._

_"Getting a drink of water." Sam answered flatly._

_The hunter had figured as much._ _He glanced down to ensure that his bandages weren't wet, discovering them to be dry he concluded that the kid must have dropped the cup prior to filling it up._

_"The gauze has no traction. The glass just slipped right through it." His brother muttered, confirming his assumption._

_"Why didn't you just ask me to get it?"_

_"Dean, I can get my own-_

_"Oh, come on, man. I thought we went through this already. You are injured, Sam. You need to let me help you out until you're better." He stated, assertive but not pushy, not wanting it to sound as though he didn't have a choice in the matter._

_"I know. You said that already." Sam replied with that exasperated teenage tone of his._

_"Then what's the deal? Why won't you let me help you?"_

_"Because you shouldn't have to, okay?! Because you're exhausted from driving for almost twenty-four hours! Because you hardly got any sleep at the hospital. Because you shouldn't have to feed me and clean up after me and help him go to the freakin bathroom! Because it isn't your fault that I got frostbite or that I'm totally useless, and you shouldn't have to deal with it." Sam hollered, getting to his feet and waving his bandaged hands around as he ranted._

_Dean was speechless, not believing what he was hearing and not even knowing where to begin his contradiction._ _How could his kid be worried about him?_ _Sam had been neglected by both Dean and their father._ _He nearly lost his fucking fingers._ _He ended up with hypothermia and signs of malnutrition, for godsake._ _Now the teen was stuck in a constant state of cold, exhaustion, and dependence._ _Why the hell would he waste time worrying about his big brother?_

 _And useless?_ _How could he even think of such a word?_ _Sam was a lot of things, stubborn, argumentative, irritating, but never_ _ **ever**_ _useless._

_"Come here." Was all Dean managed to get out, gripping his brother's bony elbow and pulling him out of the glass shards littered across the kitchen floor and over to the beds. He pushed him gently down onto the mattress._

_"Dean, wha-_

_"Shut up, Sam. I've got some things to say and I need you to be paying attention." He instructed, sitting on the edge of his own bed so he was facing the kid, their knees touching._ _He could clearly see the temptation to speak written across his little brother's face, but he managed to swallow it down and nodded in reply._

_"I have no problem helping you out, little brother-_

_"But you-_

_"Sam. My turn." He insisted authoritatively._

_The teenager rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth obediently._

_"I have never and will never have a problem with taking care of you. No matter how tired I am or how many things you might need help with, I have absolutely no issue with helping you out."_

_"Yeah but, Dean, you literally have to help be do_ _**everything** _ _."_

_"So what? It's not forever, it's just until you get better."_

_Sam looked unconvinced._

_It was time for a different strategy._

_"If it were me, wouldn't you do the same?" He asked, already fully aware of the exact response he was about to receive._

_His brother's eyes went wide as he nodded dramatically._

_"Of course, I would." Sam assured in a tone so earnest it had Dean's heart clenching._

_"So, can't I do the same for you?"_

_The older boy could practically see Sam turning the argument over in his mind, mixing it with logic and emotion. Eventually he nodded, a shy dimply smile crossing his face._

_"Yeah, I guess so."_

_"Good." He was glad that they finally seemed to be on the same page._

_However, the sight of the teen chewing on his bottom lip told him another story entirely._

_"What is it, Sam?" He questioned patiently, biting back the yawn that wanted to escape from his mouth. The last thing the kid needed was a reminder of his lack of sleep, because apparently it would be Sam's own fault in some twisted way._

_"Nothing, I just-I hate being so useless." He confessed in a whisper._

_This stupid kid._

_Dean would love to get inside that geek head of his one day and find out how he comes up with such crazy shit._

_"Well that's just moronic."_

_Sam raised an eyebrow at the insult._

_"Dude, messed up hands or not, aside from Dad, there is no one I would trust to have his back more than you." If he was being honest, Dean trusted Sam more than he did his father – John's priorities and headspace could be questionable on the best of days, but when it came to hunting he'd always rather Sam safe elsewhere and him and his father out facing the danger._

_His little brother let out a humorless laugh._

_"Yeah, I'd be great back up. I can't stop shivering, I can't shoot straight, I couldn't even hold a weapon if I wanted to."_

_"But you would find a way, Sam. If I was really in trouble, you would find a way to back me up no matter what. Because you're smart and you think on your feet. You'd get the job done, Sammy, hands or not." He stated with complete confidence, meaning every damn word and letting the kid see that through his tone and expression._

_Two hazel eyes squinted up at the taller Winchester._

_"You mean it?"_

_"Hell, yeah I mean it. You are not useless. You could never be useless, you are too intelligent and too skilled, and just way too damn stubborn to ever be useless. It's your brain and your determination that make you such a great asset, Sammy, not just all the stuff you are able to do physically. You got that? Or do I have to keep going, because I'm not sure how much more chick-flick shit I can handle tonight, dude."_

_His little brother sent him a shy smile, evidently moved by something he had said, which he didn't get._

_Because how was any of that news to him?_

_Didn't Sam already know how important he was?_

_How valuable?_

_"Thanks, Dean." Sam whispered, staring up at him with those freakin puppy dog eyes that were oozing all sorts of girlie emotions._

_"Sure thing, buddy." Dean mumbled gruffly, clearing his throat as he stood._

_"You should get some sleep." Sam announced, staring up at Dean as he shimmied further back on his bed, slight shivers making him tremble as he moved up toward his pillow._

_"I will." He declared, carefully stepping over the glass and grabbing a new cup._

_He brought the glass full of water over to his brother, setting it on the side-table with a straw dropped inside of it._ _He_ _returned to the kitchen without ordering Sam to take a drink or supervising the process, even though a part of him had desired to do both._ _The kid needed to feel capable, so Dean would do the best he could to help him with that, without allowing him to hurt himself in the process._

_"Seriously, Dean. You look exhausted."_

_"Yeah, kiddo, I know. I'm heading right back to bed after I clean this up."_

_"Sorry about that."_

_Dean looked up from what he was doing, glaring over at the thin boy swallowed under the comforter and leaning against the headboard._ _"Are you kidding me? Did we not just cover this? Sam, it's not your-_

_"No, I just meant sorry for making a mess, that's all. I'm not sorry that you have to clean it up. You don't need to go all Oprah on me again." Sam replied, his lips pulling into a cheeky smile._

_Dean was shocked. Did his angsty little brother just crack a joke?_ _And an insulting one at that._ _Maybe there was hope for this kid yet._

_"Go to sleep, you little bitch." He replied with a smirk._

_"You first, jerk." Sam said right before releasing a large yawn._

_Dean shook his head, a fond smile crossing his face as he finished picking the pieces of glass up off the tiled floor._

_Sam laid on there in the dark fighting sleep, Dean watched his eyelids dip shut, but they always popped back up. Only when Dean finally crawled under his own covers did the stubborn little brat allow his eyes to close as he sunk back into his pillow._

_"Can I have pancakes for breakfast tomorrow?" Sam slurred sleepily._

_A surprised laugh came out of Dean at the simple request._

_"Sure Sammy, whatever you want."_

_He watched as dimples lit his face, before fading as sleep took over._

_Sam needed some serious fattening up and if he wanted pancakes everyday for the next month, that's what he would get._ _The request was a good sign, it meant that Sam was done feeling guilty, at least for now._

_Dean had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time they would deal with Sam's frostbite and all the emotional crap that came with it, but for now the kid seemed to be at peace._

_And he'd take the win wherever he could get it._

_\---------------------------------------------------------------------_

"I remember being on cloud nine after you told me that."

Sam's announcement had Dean's eyebrows raising.

"I thought you didn't remember what I said."

A mischievous grin lit his brother's face as he shrugged in response.

"You little shit, you just wanted me to say it again." He pieced together.

"No, I just wanted to see if you remembered it right. Because what you said to me, about how I was smart and determined and how that made me an asset - gawd, Dean - that meant the world. It was like everything I'd ever wanted to hear. Everything I had always wanted Dad to tell me."

The honest confession was full of such raw emotion it caught Dean off guard. And the wistful smile on his little brother's face made his heart ache.

"Sam, Dad just doesn't know how to say things like that, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think it." Dean had inwardly - and sometimes outwardly - cursed their father for his inability to say the things Sammy needed to hear. Dean knew their old man did the best he could. But sometimes, sometimes that just wasn't enough.

"Honestly, Dean, it meant a lot more coming from you." The young man declared softly, those damn puppy eyes making an appearance as he stared over at his big brother.

Dean had no response to that, his throat closing in emotion as he diverted his gaze, no longer able stare into the soulful hazel eyes without losing his composure.

"You still think I'm smart?"

The soft question brought his gaze back to Sam, who was looking at him uncertainly from underneath all of his ridiculous hair.

Did the kid really not know he was a bloody genius?

Didn't he know that he was the brains of this operation?

"Dude, does getting a free ride to Stanford ring a bell?" Dean asked in disbelief, because it was pretty damn obvious that the kid was massively intelligent.

And for the first time since they had been reunited, the mention of Sam's school brought a smile to his face, instead of a frown.

"Between that and you always knowing all the answers on Jeopardy, I'd say that makes it clear that you are pretty fucking smart, also a massive dork, but smart." Dean declared, a hint of a smile on his face.

Sam's lips traveled up into a wide grin as he rolled his eyes. "And you knowing all the answers to the Price is Right, what does that make you? A geek?"

"No, that makes me financially conscious." Dean defended playfully. Although the truth was, when you grow up constantly budgeting and figuring out how far you could stretch the cash every week, you become pretty damn good at guessing prices.

"When was the first disappearance?"

The abrupt change in topic had the older man curious until he saw the glimmer in his brother's eyes, the same look the kid got every time he figured something out.

Dean rifled through the research until he found the required piece of information.

"Uuh a little over a year ago."

"And all the other incidences happened after that."

"Yeah, but not on any sort of scheduled basis." He remarked as he looked at the dates of all the disappearances.

"What's it say about the first one." He asked, not even bothering to read the paper, just sitting enraptured in thought.

"Madeline Reid, age eighteen, went into the house on a dare. Her friends are claiming she never came back out. She hasn't been seen since. That's pretty much all it says."

Sam nodded along as he read, absorbing the info, frowning as he took it in.

"What?" Dean's patience was thinning.

"I thought it might have to do with the first vic. Maybe a case of a pissed off spirit that's attached to the place she died and then whenever someone comes snooping around she takes them out."

"Like a victim of opportunity situation? Makes sense, that explains the differences in the missing people and the lack of any sort of pattern. She must be attached to the house." Dean agreed.

"Yeah but, you said that she went in on a dare, indicating that people already thought the house was haunted."

"Maybe, but we checked out the history of the house, man, it's clean. There's nothing supernatural about that place."

"That's why I thought it had to do with the owners, or the Madeline girl, but that wouldn't explain why people already had suspicions about the property." Sam stated with a puzzled expression.

"It was an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Of course people would think it was haunted, isn't that what they assume about every building that's been boarded up? We come across this kind of thing all the time, people see what they want to see. You've got a whole community that drives by this house on a country road and it's all closed down and empty, do they stop to wonder why? No, they just assume it's haunted, they start reading into things. All of the sudden every sound and glimmer of light is supernatural activity."

"Yeah? You think that's what happened?"

Dean shrugged. "I think you're right about it being something to do with the first disappearance. I think we should check out this Madeline chic. Go talk to her family and friends, see if we can find anything suspicious."

Sam nodded in fervent agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

Sam watched as Dean re-stacked all the papers and returned them to the librarian in some form of order.

"You know, Dean, you are pretty bright yourself." Sam commented, nudging him with his elbow as they made their way out to the car.

"Yeah, accept I'm cool smart, like James Bond. Not dorky smart like you and all those old guys with giant glasses and crazy hair." He quipped.

His little brother released a genuine laugh, not even griping when Dean had to open the passenger door for him.

Dean made his way around the Impala, shaking his head in sheer disbelief.

Useless.

How the hell could Sam every think he was useless. How could he not know how smart he was? Or what a great hunter he was? How could he not know how valuable he was? How much he brought to the table? How could such a smart kid be so incredibly stupid?

Maybe that was why Dean was around, so he could assure his big brained little brother that he had more use and value than could be calculated. That Sam mattered more to him than anyone else on the entire fucking planet, regardless of any imperfections.

Dean was going to have to find more manly ways to do that, though. Because he had broken no chick-flick rule way too many times in the past few days.

Then again, Sammy had always been the exception to every rule.


	11. Chapter 11

The interview with Madeline Reid's parents went well.

About as well as an interview with two mourning parents and a constantly shivering little brother could go anyways.

After Mrs. Reid asked Sam if he was alright for the third time, his little brother insisted that he was fine before quietly excusing himself, taking the keys Dean handed him, and going to sit in the Impala.

If there was anything Sam hated more than being ignored, it was being the center of attention.

Dean wrapped up the interview quickly before thanking the emotional couple for their time and making his way over to the car. He was pleasantly surprised to feel that the heat was on upon dropping in behind the wheel. He was surprised because Sam had been such a stubborn little bitch about taking care of himself and apparently now was putting in an effort. However, that content feeling quickly faded away to the worry that set in once he realized just how damn cold his little brother must be feeling if he was willingly doing something Dean would normally have to nag him to do.

"Did you learn anything?"

"You alright?" Dean questioned first, watching as fine tremors ran through the long frame.

"Fine. What did you learn?" The younger man repeated gruffly.

"Nothing they didn't tell you. They moved to town approximately two years ago, Madeline had a difficult time making friends, and she just started hanging out with a group of kids a week before her disappearance." He listed off, while backing out of the driveway.

Sam's forehead wrinkled as a pensive frown appeared on his face.

"And the police report pretty much backs up everything the parents said. The witnesses, or friends, dared the missing girl to go inside and then stuck around for a few hours only to realize that she wasn't coming out."

"Nobody went in after her?" His brother asked.

"No, they were all scared shitless. As far as they knew, everything they had thought was a myth was actually true. The cops searched the house a few hours later when Madeline's parents called to report her missing, but by that point the place was empty."

They drove in silence while Sam thought through the situation.

"Wait, her parents reported her missing?"

"Yes." Dean confirmed, clearly remembering reading that on the report.

"The kids she was with didn't call the cops when she never came out of the house?"

"I guess not." He shrugged. "They were probably too freaked out."

"Maybe." Sam said, sounding very much like he didn't believe that was the case.

"Why? What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. I guess it doesn't add up. This girl just starts making friends and all of the sudden she goes missing by doing something that those same friends dared her to do. And none of them call the cops after she disappears."

Dean considered what his brother was saying. "You think her friends had something to do with it?"

Sam cocked his head to the side. "I think they know more than they admitted to."

"Then I guess it's a good think that I jotted down the address of the one witness still living in this tiny town."

Sam's eyebrow quirked upwards. "You do realize I was the one who told you to write that down? After we realized the rest of the kids from a year ago had already graduated and gone off to post-secondary schools out of state."

"All I know is that the address of that one chick is written in my handwriting, Sam." Dean declared, a playful look on his face, knowing that he was getting the kid riled up.

"Dude, you wouldn't have even bothered taking it down if I hadn't told you to."

"But I did. I wrote it down."

"Yeah, cause I _told_ you to!" Sam argued.

"Whatever makes you feel better, little brother."

"I would have written it myself if I could have."

"I'm sure you would have, Sam." Dean mocked with a smirk.

The young man huffed in irritation, glaring at his from the corner of his eyes, entirely unamused. Dean smiled at Sam's frustration, classic little brother, always so easy to aggravate.

They both searched for the street name that was scrawled out on the crumpled piece of paper resting on the dashboard.

"Your hands any better?" Dean asked as he squinted out at unfamiliar roads.

Sam shrugged. "I can move them again." He said, staring down at them and then muttering, "But they're still shaking."

Dean nodded his head knowingly. The kid's hands seemed to be in constant movement, but in this cold weather they were probably vibrating even more severely than the rest of him.

"I forgot." The soft words barely caught the driver's attention.

"You forgot what?" He asked, glancing down to see Sam's gloves securely wrapped around his trembling appendages and feeling in his pocket for his pain meds, noticing they were indeed there and wondering what could have been left behind.

"What it was like." Sam continued.

"What, what was like?" Dean inquired, keeping one eye on the road, but glancing to his right.

"The shivering. The inability to keep still. And the cold. The constant chill in my body that seems to go right down to my damn bones. California was…well it's been awhile since I've dealt with all this." As if to emphasize his frustrations, an exceptionally violent quake traveled through the young man's limbs.

Dean's jaw clenched in time with his hands around the steering wheel. He hated that his little brother had to deal with that and he hated that there was nothing he could do.

"We shouldn't have come here." He bit out.

Sam's eyes went wide for a moment as he tore his gaze from his hands and looked in his direction.

"It's not that bad, Dean. Really, I'm fine." He insisted, back-tracking pretty much everything he had just admitted to.

"Bullshit." He called, but he didn't even broach the topic of dropping the case because he knew that wouldn't be happening.

His kid was a stubborn little shit, he always had been.

Dean knew he wasn't going to be able to change Sam's mind, so he was just going to have to watch him like a hawk and keep him safe and healthy. Something he had a hell of a lot of practice with.

They made the rest of the drive in silence as Dean thought of everything he could do to keep the younger man warm, and Sam chewed on his bottom lip, likely regretting his recent confession.

"Here we are." He muttered, pulling up to a small house that matched the address of the only witness still residing in town.

Dean parked the Impala and climbed out, heading to the door, turning when he realized that there was no over-grown little brother shadowing him. He marched back to the car and opened the passenger door.

"You coming or what?" He asked, staring down at the shaggy head.

Sam shrugged.

"Dude, she won't even notice." Dean declared, realizing why the kid was being skittish.

The passenger looked up at him, skepticism shading his features.

"She won't, Sam. It's just some nineteen-year-old kid, she'll be too busy answering questions to notice your hands."

"Mrs. Reid noticed." He muttered.

"Yeah, because she's a mother who lost her only child a little over a year ago, she has missed mothering and you with your puppy-dog looks gave her the perfect opportunity to get back at it." He pointed out.

Sam sat, considering the information.

"Mr. Reid didn't notice shit." Dean added.

His brother gave a slight nod before climbing from the vehicle.

If Sam had wanted to stay in the car for the purpose of keeping warm that was one thing, but Dean wasn't about to let him spend the time sulking.

They made their way to the house together, Sam slouched behind his big brother, hiding the way he would when they were children. Dean smiled fondly at the recollection, and the knowledge that even years later he still had the ability to make his kid brother feel safe.

A young woman answered the door, she was blonde and pretty, the type of girl Dean would usually go for if his mind wasn't occupied with more important things…or people.

It was Rebecca Maslow, the one witness from over a year ago that remained in town. The nineteen-year-old didn't flinch when they introduced themselves as the state police, but the name 'Madeline Reid' elicited an entirely different response.

Rebecca tensed, her welcoming demeanor turning to one far more dismissive once they began to question her about what had occurred the previous year. No matter how they pried, the witness didn't give up any more information than was already written in the police reports. Her posture was stiff and her face angry as she gave simplistic one-word answers that were of little use. Sam and Dean could quickly tell that they weren't going to gather any new information from someone so hostile, and politely made their exit.

"Well that was weird." The older hunter observed aloud as they slid back into the Impala.

"Somethings not right." Sam stated, shaking his head as they pulled out of the driveway.

"You think?" Dean shot back sarcastically.

They made their way back onto the road and continued their drive in silence. Sam probably pondering the case, as Dean thought of more pressing matters, like where they would go to eat lunch; knowing his little brother wouldn't want to return to the diner he had been embarrassed at that morning. Dean had to find somewhere that would have food Sam would actually eat, because the kid had given Dean his breakfast, unable to eat it with numb hands. The older boy had offered to help him, but of course the stubborn brat had refused. Not that Dean could blame him, he doubted that he would want anyone spoon-feeding him.

Dean settled on a small deli located in the center of town.

Sam moseyed in and found them a table in the corner while Dean stood and ordered their meals. A large BLT sandwich for himself and a chicken sandwich for his little brother. He momentarily contemplated picking the health-freak up a salad as well, but he wasn't sure how aggressively his hands were shaking and had no desire to further Sam's degree of frustration with the uncooperative limbs by watching him fight with the lettuce.

Dean returned with their lunch, satisfied when Sam was able to take a bite of his meal with relative ease.

"I think they were in on it." He commented once he had finished chewing.

"Did you have the first part of that conversation in your head?" Dean queried, his mouth full of food as he spoke.

Sam scowled, either at the comment or the half-masticated sandwich he put on display, probably both.

"The kids that were with Madeline Reid. I think they had something to do with her disappearance."

"Like what?"

"I think they set her up. Got her killed somehow, maybe not intentionally. That's why they didn't call the cops, that's why Rebecca Maslow was so tense about the whole thing."

Dean chewed for a moment, his brain considering his brother's theory. "You think they did something that got her killed. And now her spirit is taking revenge?"

"Not necessarily revenge. The other people who have gone missing in that house have no relation to Madeline. I think her spirit is attached to that house and probably significantly pissed off-

"And taking out it's anger on whoever enters." Dean summed up thoughtfully.

"Exactly."

"I don't know, dude."

"It explains everything. Why the victims have nothing in common, why the disappearances don't have any pattern, and why people who entered that house have only started to go missing after Madeline's death a little over a year ago. You heard her parents, Dean. She was a loner, a shy, quiet kid without any friends. How likely is it that the moment she starts hanging out with a group of kids she vanished?" Sam asked, his voice hushed but as passionate as it always became whenever he had figured out the answer to a case.

"So, you think they set out to mess with her, maybe ended up getting her killed, and then covered the whole thing up?"

"Yeah."

"That's pretty dark."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure I buy the idea of teens pulling off shit that intense. I mean they killed a girl, intentionally or not, they killed her and then covered it up? I just don't think they'd be capable of that."

"Yeah, because teenagers are never that cruel, right?" Sam muttered.

The comment seemed as though it was meant to be sarcastic, but the sullen tone in which it was spoken gave it much more depth.

Dean glanced across the table to see that his little brother's face had fallen and his eyes held a darkness he had rarely seen before. The sight of them forced a memory on him, one that he had long fought to repress.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

_"Hey Sammy, you sure you don't want me to drive you over to your girlfriend's place?"_

_"For the hundredth time, Dean, she's not my girlfriend."_

_"Dude, I saw the way she was all over you when I picked you up from school, trust me, she's your girlfriend."_

_"It's not like that okay, we just have to do a project together, that's all."_

_"Well she's totally into you, so don't be surprised if she tries to jump you during your little geek session."_

_Sam rolled his eyes so dramatically Dean thought they might turn right over in his head._

_"She doesn't even know me. I've been at that school for three weeks and she never even talked to me before today."_

_"Well it's only September, maybe it took her some time to work up the courage." Dean pointed out._

_Sam released an exasperated huff, as if his big brother had just suggested the most absurd thing on the planet._

_"She's in with the cool kids, that's why she's never spoken to me before."_

_"C'mon, Sammy. You're pretty cool, I mean other than the fact you look like a puppy dog." Dean commented, ruffling the teen's long locks._

_Sam swatted him away, ducking out of his reach._

_"I'm the_ _**new** _ _kid, Dean."_

_"The school year just started, everyone is the new kid."_

_"No, not in this town. They have all been going to school together since grade one." Sam snorted._

_"Well maybe this chick is just happy to see a fresh face on her senior year."_

_His brother shook his head dismissively._ _"We are just doing a project. Trust me, she's not into me."_

_"Someone should tell her that." Dean quipped, winking at his brother. He grinned at the way the little dork blushed before looking away._

_"Besides, she's got a boyfriend and he's on the football team and stuff."_

_"Pfft, you could take him."_

_Because Sam could._

_The kid may have been an extremely reluctant hunter, but he was fucking amazing at it. He was a lanky thing, much thinner than Dean was comfortable with, but he was strong when he wanted to be. His strength added to his massive geek brain, made him one hell of a hunter and a complete force of nature._

_Dean knew as wiry as he was, Sam could take some teenaged football player, he had faced much more frightening opponents in his life and won._

_Then again, the kid wasn't quite at the top of his game, he was recovering from three busted ribs, and though they were healing nicely, the slight hunch of his shoulders and his slow careful gait told Dean that his brother was still feeling some pain._

_Not that the little bitch would admit to it._ _But it was the reason the older boy didn't wanted him walking all the way across town._

_"So, you want me to take you over?" He questioned, making his way back to his original inquiry._

_"No, it's fine. Her place isn't that far."_

_"It's across town."_

_"It's a small town." Sam stated, failing to hide a wince as he came to a stand._

_"Come on, buddy. I can tell you're still hurting."_

_Sam sent him a soft smile as he collected his school books._ _"I'm fine. Nothing I haven't dealt with before."_

_Dean hated how true that was. Hated that his kid brother was familiar with the pain of healing ribs._

_How fucked up was that?_

_"You want to take the Impala?" He offered sincerely, thinking maybe the thrill of driving his baby would sway the teen away from walking the distance._

_Sam looked up at him, eyes comically wide as he stared in shock._ _"What? You never offer to let me take the car."_

_"I do...sometimes." Dean muttered, knowing that wasn't entirely true._

_The Impala was his baby and he was more than a little possessive of her, but he really didn't want his brother to hurt more than he knew he already was; so if offering up his prized possession could help the kid in some way, than he would do it without a second thought._

_"You don't. Ever. But I'm good. Thanks anyways." Sammy smiled, his dimples showing as he shrugged into his jacket._

_That was the other reason Dean didn't want him walking. It was September in Tennessee and even though it wasn't very cold, there was still a cool wind in the air._ _The slightest chill and little brothers prone to hypothermia and frostbite, really didn't mix._

_"You sure?" He inquired, hoping the Sam would change his mind._

_"Yup. Besides, don't you need the car? I thought you had a date tonight."_

_"Yeah, but we are just going to dinner." Dean stated with a shrug, knowing the center of town was closer to the motel than the house where Sam was headed._

_"But don't you want to impress your date with the Impala." His brother suggested with a smirk, knowing him all too well._

_"Hey man, all I need to impress her is my looks. You need all the help you can get to impress your new girlfriend." He snickered._

_"She's not my girlfriend." Sam grumbled, heading for the door._

_"Hey, Sam-_

_"No, I don't need a ride." He cut him off, stepping out of the room._

_"Sam-_

_"I'll be back in a couple hours, way before you probably." He continued, pulling the door closed behind him._

_"Sam-_

_"I'm already wearing my jacket and I have my gloves in my pocket, I will put them on if I get cold."_

_"Sam!" Dean shouted._

_His brother poked his head back around the nearly closed door and looked over at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity, no doubt wondering what could possibly be left to say._

_"Don't forget to use protection." Dean announced with a shit-eating grin and a waggle of his eyebrows._

_"You're disgusting." The teen's face turning a bright shade of red as he slammed the door behind him._

_Dean chuckled to himself as he got ready to hop in the shower. He loved how easy it was to make his little brother feel uncomfortable._

_After nearly an hour of wasting time it was finally nine pm and time for him to go meet - Carrie? Katie? Cathy?- the attractive young woman he met at the bar a few nights ago._

_He sent Sam a text on his way out the door, telling him that he was heading out, the two of them often keeping each other in the loop about their movements. Something they had grown up accustomed to doing, both as hunters and as brothers often left to look out for each other._

_Dean was about to shut the motel room door when he heard a buzzing sound. He recognized it instantly as a phone vibrating on a hard surface. He looked back into the room, scanning it quickly before spotting his little brother's cell phone on the small kitchen table._

_"Sammy." He sighed, grabbing the cellular device, flipping it open to see a text received from 'De'. He felt a fond smile pulling at his lips as he shook his head in attempted exasperation and pocketed the phone._ _He would drop it off at that chic's house before going to meet his date. Sam had told him the address and luckily, the older boy had the sense to remember it._ _Dean might be a few minutes late meeting - Cassie? Cindy? Suzy? - whatshername, but he knew if he wasn't positive that his brother had the ability to contact him, he wouldn't be able to focus on his date, regardless of how hot she was._

 _Sam and Dean were spending more time apart now than they ever had before. Now that Sam was older and independent, well he had always been independent, but now that he was grown and could do things on his own, they were not attached at the hip like they used to be. Dean wasn't thrilled about it, but he had to allow it, had to give Sam his freedom. However, now that they were spending time apart, staying in contact was that much more important._ _Both of them always made a point to keep each other updated on their location as well as always answering the phone when the other called. No matter how pissed his little brother was at him or their father or their life in general, he_ _ **always**_ _answered the phone when Dean called._ _Sam understood the horror scenes that would play on repeat in his big brother's mind if he didn't know where the kid was, just as they did in Sam's when he wasn't aware of Dean's location._ _They didn't put each other through that kind of distress, so they_ _ **always**_ _answered their phones, that is, when they remembered to have them on their person._

_Dean was nearing the outskirts of the small town, slowing the Impala as he searched for the place Sam had told him he would be at. It was dark, so it was difficult to see the house numbers as he cruised slowly up the dirt road. Dean was squinting out the window, searching for the destination and cursing the complete lack of streetlights when he spotted a lanky kid walking up the opposite side of the road._

_Even in the darkest of nights there was no way he wouldn't recognize those thin limbs and that shaggy head._

_Sammy._

_Dean stopped the car, not even bothering to pull it off to the side because the road wasn't wide enough and the Impala was the only vehicle on it._

_He was about to holler out the window at his little brother, before he realized that the kid hadn't seemed to notice him._

_How did he not hear the Impala's engine? Or see the only pair of headlights illuminating the road?_

_Dean opted for exiting the vehicle and jogging across the street._

_"Sammy." He called out, placing his hand on the boney shoulder and just barely ducking the fist that came flying towards his face._ _"Whoah. Buddy, it's me. Just me!" He defended, hands up as he took a step out of Sam's long reach._

_His brother's body remained in fight mode for an extra couple seconds as his weary gaze looked him over._

_"Dean." He sighed in what could only be explained as relief, the tension leaving his limbs._

_"Yeah, kiddo. You didn't hear me? Or the car?"_

_Sam shook his head, and only then did Dean realize the over-grown brown locks were sopping wet, as was the rest of his kid._

_"What the hell? Why are you drenched? Where the hell is your coat?"_

_The teen looked down at himself, as though he were just noticing his missing jacket and wet clothing. Dean followed his gaze and also realized that there were no shoes on the long feet, just socks that looked about as soaked as the rest of him._

_"What happened?" He asked, trying for a simpler question this time._

_Sam's eyes found the green ones for a moment, those hazel orbs drowning in misery as the younger boy opened and closed his mouth a couple times before seemingly giving up and dropping is gaze._ _Dean was about to make a dozen other inquiries, but just as he opened his mouth he watched a violent shiver tear its way through the thin frame._ _Of course the kid was cold. He was soaked to the bone. There was only a cool breeze in the air, but with Sam's medical history, it must have felt downright frigid._ _And while Dean was extremely eager to get some answers out of his little brother, taking care of him always came first._

_"Alright. Conversation later. Warmth now."_

_He ushered his unresponsive little brother into the Impala. He grabbed the old worn blanket from the back seat and spread it over Sam's long frame, frowning as the teen's hands trembled too severely to hold the fabric around himself._ _Dean_ _gently grasped hold of them, grimacing at the chilled skin, but satisfied that his inspection of the cold appendages revealed no discolouration._

_He wanted to ask Sam where the hell his gloves had ended up, but he figured they were probably in the same place as his coat, shoes, and schoolbooks._

_However, there was one question that he really needed an immediate answer to._

_"Sammy." He waited for the puppy dog eyes to find his before continuing._ _"Are you hurt anywhere?"_

_His brother sat silently, squinting up at Dean from his seated position as though he were unsure of the answer._

_"I need to know if you are injured, kiddo. Just tell him that much, okay? Does anything hurt?"_

_The young man silently shivered for another moment before replying._ _"Just my ribs." He rasped._

 _Dean crouched down outside of the car next to the passenger seat and gently tugged his little brother's shirt up, offering a soft apology as Sam's shivering became more severe with the cold air making direct contact with the wet skin._ _Dean_ _felt gently along his kid's ribcage, paying close attention to the three ribs that had been recovering from previous damage. One of them shifted at his touch, eliciting a sharp inhale from Sam._

 _"Sorry." Dean apologized, scowling at the re-damaged bone as he let the teen's clothing fall back into place and wrapped the blanket more securely around the trembling frame._ _He closed the passenger door and quickly made his way around the Impala, just barely dropping into the driver's seat before blasting the heat._

_The ride back to the motel was made in silence, save the sound of Dean's cell-phone going off. He didn't bother answering it, he knew it was - Kenzie? Kelly? Christy? - the girl he was supposed to meet tonight._

_Once they arrived back at the room Sam must have been at least a fraction warmer, that or he was simply more coherent than before, because he got out of the car and made his way inside all on his own without any aid or prompting._

_"Get out of those wet clothes and get dry." Dean instructed._

_Sam nodded, refusing to meet his big brother's gaze as he grabbed some dry sweats and headed for the bathroom._

_Dean turned the heat up in the room and then dumped some pain meds into his hand, setting them on the table next to a glass of water. Ideally, he would want to place ice on Sam's injured ribs, but he knew that wasn't an option with how cold he was._

_His brother exited the washroom a few short moments later, clad in sweatpants with his hair still damp as he held his sweater in his hand._

_"I need help." He muttered._

_"With what?" Dean asked, just glad that the kid was talking as he made his way over to him._

_"Can't get it on, hurts to lift my arms." Sam explained softly._

_"Alright, I've got you covered." He assured, taking the sweater and herding the teen into the kitchen chair._ _Dean slipped the neck of the clothing over the shaggy head and maneuvered the skinny arms into the sleeves without causing Sam any pain._

_"There." He said, handing him a couple of pills and the glass of water._

_The teen took them willingly and than proceeded to stare at the tabletop as though it held all the answers to life._

_Dean snagged the comforter off his bed and wrapped it around the still-shivering body, concerned by the lack of response he received. He would have preferred it if Sam had brushed him off in petulant irritation than have him not react at all._

_He made two cups of coffee, knowing that the warmth from the mug would warm his brother's hands and the liquid inside it would help to take the chill out of the rest of him._ _He allowed Sam to take several sips of the steaming beverage, content to see the shivers become less and less severe with each swallow. Once he noticed the kid was finally much warmer than he had been and was out of any sort of danger, he moved his chair closer and began his line of questioning._

_"So, you want to tell me how you ended up soaking wet wandering up a dirt road in the dark, when you were supposed to be doing a project at some chick's house?" He asked._

_Sam looked up, his eyes meeting Dean's for a fleeting second before they returned to the ever-so-fascinating tabletop._

_"Not really." He mumbled._

_"Well too bad."_

_Dean waited for his brother to speak, both of them hearing his cell-phone go off for what must have been the fourth time._

_"You should really answer that." Sam said._

_"It can wait until after I find out what the hell went on tonight." He dismissed, not giving his brother the distraction he was hoping for._

_Sam released a tired sigh before speaking._

_"Okay, but you have to promise not to hurt anyone."_

_Dean raised an eyebrow._ _First of all, he didn't like the way that comment was setting up the rest of the story, and second of all, that was not a promise he could ever make._

_"You know I can't."_

_"Yeah, you can. And you will, or I'm not telling you what happened."_

_Dean growled at the challenging teenage tone, partially relieved that his brother was beginning to act like his stubborn/argumentative self again, but mostly annoyed with the defiant behavior._

_"I can't promise anything until I know what happened." He reasoned._

_"You can. I'm not hurt-_

_"Sam, your rib is busted, again!"_

_"That was my own doing. Now, promise."_

_Dean glared at the teen. The stubborn little bitch wasn't going to let this go._ _So, he offered up what he considered to be a very reasonable compromise._

_"How about I promise not to kill anyone?"_

_A small smirk pulled at the teen's lips._

_"Or seriously injure." He added._

_Dean scowled, not appreciating how restrictive this was getting, but reluctantly nodded his head, knowing that Sam wouldn't let him have it his way._

_"Deal." He promised._

_The teen nodded in satisfaction, taking another sip of coffee, his hands shaking so hard that the hot liquid nearly spilled all over him._ _Before he could make a comment to express his concern, Sam began to speak._

_"I was walking over to Lori's, she's my partner for the project."_

_Dean nodded, because he knew that much._

_"When I got there, there were a bunch of guys from school on her front porch. I tried to ignore them, but they kept bothering me."_

_"Bothering you how?" Dean questioned, trying to keep the rising anger from his tone._

_Sam shrugged at that, clearly not wanting to answer._

_"Sammy, be straight with me dude, c'mon now." He encouraged_

_"Just calling me names, the same names they call me at school."_

_"They've been bothering you at school?" Dean queried through clenched teeth, aggravated for the millionth time that Sam and he weren't closer in age. He hated not being able to keep an eye on the kid in school, or more accurately, keep an eye on the douche bags that seem to always go after him in school._

_"Yeah sort of. It started off as just classic new kid stuff. Calling me newbie and picking on me about stupid shit, but then, well, one day my hands were kind of shaking, because the school still had the air conditioning on and it was really cold in the building. Anyways, they sort of noticed and they started calling me jitters" Sam nearly whispered the nickname, but Dean could still hear the disdain for it clearly in his voice and see the dark look in his eyes._

_A dark look he had very rarely seen before._

_Dean's muscles clenched as he tensed in anger._ _Wasn't it bad enough that Sam had to deal with constantly cold hands?_ _Did a bunch of jackasses really have to make it worse?_ _Did they have to give him some fucking nickname to make him even more self-conscious?_

_"Stop grinding your teeth, Dean." His brother ordered. "You're going to mess them up."_

_Dean rolled his eyes, but made an effort to relax._ _"They were calling you names when you got to the house?" He prompted, moving the story along, as he mentally cataloged all the reasons to rip the lungs out of each bastard that had picked on his kid brother._

_"Yeah. I think they were just trying to start something, so I told them to back off."_

_Contrary to what their father believed, Sam had always had an amazing amount of self-control, he had a hell of a lot more than Dena or John did, that was for sure._

_"Jeff, that's Lori's boyfriend."_

_"The football player?"_

_"Yeah. He said that Lori was around back. I didn't believe him until I heard her scream."_

_"Wait, Lori screamed?"_

_"Yes. So, I ran around back and she was sort of standing at the edge of the grass looking out at the lake."_

_"Lake?"_

_"There's a lake behind her house. It's pretty wide, and it runs along the entire country road, about fifteen acres."_

_Dean nodded at the information._

_"So, she's standing there screaming and she's pointing out into the water and when I got there she told me that her dog had been swimming out there and was drowning. I looked out, it was pretty dark already, but I could see something the size and shape of an animal floating in the water..." Sam faded off, clearly hesitating to explain what happened next._

_"Then you jumped in after it." Dean added, knowing full well what his little brother would do in that situation._

_Sam twitched a smile before continuing._ _"Yeah, I did. I took off my shoes and my coat and dove in after it. I swam about half-way out before I reached it, which is when I realized that it wasn't a dog."_

_The young man took another sip of coffee, his eyes focused on the cup as he proceeded to speak._

_"It was a raccoon, or the carcass of one anyway. As soon as I noticed I looked back over to where Lori had been and saw her and the other guys standing there laughing."_

_Furry was coursing through Dean's veins, the broken tone in his little brother's voice enough to send him over the edge._ _Sam didn't seem to notice as he gazed miserably down at his hands._

_"I watched them grab my coat and shoes and run off. I figure they just ran into Lori's house because once I swam back to land I couldn't see them anywhere. By the time I got out of the water I was so cold that I didn't bother trying to get them back. I didn't even bother picking my schoolbooks up off the porch." He admitted quietly._

_They both sat in silence for another moment, Sam rubbing discreetly at his eyes as Dean struggled to control the rage rushing through his body._

_"Those bastards!" He cursed vehemently._

_"Dean, relax. It was just a stupid joke." The teen placated._

_"No, it wasn't Sam. They could have gotten you killed." He seethed._

_"It' wasn't that bad."_

_"It was! You could have drowned, and if you had walked all the way back across town you probably would have ended up with hypothermia, not to mention what could have happened to your hands."_

_Sam rolled his eyes, indicating clearly that he felt his big brother was over-reacting._

_Dean took a breath to calm himself._

_"Call it what you want, Sam, but it sure as hell wasn't a fucking joke." He surmised._

_The teen nodded in miserable agreement._

_"How'd you hurt your rib?" Dean ground out, needing to know what else to add to his mental list of reasons to slaughter all those sonsofbitches._

_Sam cleared his throat, wiping one more time at his moisture filled eyes before responding._ _"I uh, I tripped when I was getting out of the water. It was so muddy and there was nothing to grab onto and I was shaking so hard. The water was so cold, I- I tripped getting out and slammed down onto some rocks."_

_Dean nodded in understanding, that matched the fresh bruise he had seen forming on the slender torso._

_His anger escalated as he stared at Sammy's defeated appearance. The teen's shoulders were hunched, eyes downcast, as his wet hair curtained his face. His hands were still shaking and he continued to shiver, which was no doubt reeking havoc on his re-broken rib._

_Dean needed to get him warmed up even more and horizontal so he wouldn't be in so much pain, hopefully the pills would kick in soon as well and knock him right out._

_"Come on, kiddo, let's get you laying down." He suggested, his mind still storming with violence, but his touch gentle as he helped Sam from his chair and guided him to the bed._

_His brother was compliant as he carefully pushed him down onto the mattress. He got Sam horizontal, propping him up on pillows to ease any sort of discomfort. The teenager sighed tiredly as he rested his head back and got himself situated. Dean was about to cover him up with both sets of blankets when he noticed his bare feet._ _He moved to his duffel and grabbed the warmest pair of soaks, pulling them over the icicle feet._

_"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam whispered._

_Dean looked up from what he was doing, eyes wide with alarm._ _"What for?"_

_"For losing my jacket and shoes, and those were new gloves. I know you paid a lot for them. I shouldn't have-_

_"Stop right there!" Dean snapped, glaring over at the young man who was surprised by his outburst._

_"I don't care about the jacket or your shoes or the damn gloves okay? And don't you dare apologize for what those scumbags did!" He ordered._

_"But I was stupid, I shouldn't have-_

_"You did the right thing, Sammy." He declared assuredly, slipping the second sock over his brother's foot before tugging the blankets over top of him and coming to stand at his bedside._ _"You thought some girl's pet was drowning and you jumped into action to help her. You couldn't have possibly known what those assholes were up to."_

_"Yeah, but after I should have gone to the house to try and get my stuff back." Sam insisted._

_"No way. You were hurt and freezing, the last thing you needed to do was get into a fight. Besides, I doubt those little chicken-shits would have even come out of the house."_

_His little brother looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding his head._ _"Okay." Sam whispered softly, the pain meds clearly taking effect as his eyes began to droop closed._

_"Get some sleep." Dean instructed, patting his brother gently on the chest before making to move away. He stopped as cool bony fingers snagged his wrist, and he turned back to Sam._

_"How'd you find me?" The teen asked, his voice laced with exhaustion, but his eyes refusing to close._

_"You left your cell here, I was going to bring it to you."_

_For some reason that made Sam smile, maybe it was just the drugs in his system, but either way the sight of those damn dimples eased the rage that had been tearing through the older boy's mind._

_The sound of his phone going off echoed through the small room._

_"She's going to keep calling. Answer your bloody phone." Sam grumbled._

_"You'd think by now she would have figured out I'm not going to show." He pointed out._

_"You could still go if you want." Sam offered, forcing his eyes wide so they wouldn't fall closed on him, like they were clearly trying to._

_Dean laughed in disbelief at his suggestion._ _"And leave you all on your own, Mr. Trouble-Magnet? I don't think so."_

_"I'm not a trouble magnet." Sam slurred in defense, his face screwing up the way it did whenever he had been insulted as a child._

_"Sure, you aren't, Sammy." He snickered, as he carded his fingers through his brother's slightly damp hair, sweeping the bangs off the pale forehead like he had done a million times before._

_"It's Sam." The younger boy corrected softly, his eyelids fluttering as he stubbornly tried to keep them open._

_"Whatever you say." Dean smirked._

_"That's right. I'm the boss." The teen murmured._

_"Of course you are. Now get some sleep, little brother." He ordered lightly, smiling down fondly at the kid who had always fought sleep with everything he had._

_It was nice to know that somethings never changed._

_Sam's eyes fell shut as he sighed, but this time the sound was content and not broken or exhausted._

_"Thanks for coming for me, Dean." He breathed out, squeezing his brother's wrist before lettings his hand fall back down onto the bed._

_"I always will, Sammy." Dean promised, tucking the lanky arm under the covers and grinning at the content look on the young face._

_Dean didn't understand how anyone could be so cruel to someone so kind._ _How could you pick on someone who would risk his own well-being to save a damn puppy?_ _How could you bully someone who could easily kick your ass, but chose not to because he was better than that?_ _How could a bunch of douche-bag teenagers treat his little brother like total shit, when all he wanted was to be a normal kid?_

 _How could they make fun of him for having shaky hands?_ _Wasn't it bad enough that Sam wasn't able to control his body temperature or his damaged hands?_ _Did they have to make him feel like he was a freak as well?_

_They would all regret the day they decided to treat Sam like shit._

_Anyone who treated Dean's selfless little brother with anything but kindness, needed to be taught a lesson._

_And Dean would spend the rest of his life teaching that lesson if he had to._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------_

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to- I shouldn't have said that."

Dean was pulled out of his recollection from years ago, by Sam's apology.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He questioned, biting into the sandwich he had been neglecting.

"I shouldn't have brought that up." Sam muttered.

"Brought what up?"

"You don't think I know what you were thinking about?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Dean shrugged, not bothering to deny the truth.

"You proved your point. It was naive of me to suggest that teenagers aren't capable of some seriously cruel crap."

Sam gave a hesitant nod. "So, what now?"

"Well we have a theory, I don't think they are going to learn anymore through research. We best just go check out the house tonight." he reasoned.

Sam nodded in agreement, finally taking a second bite of his lunch, chewing with a thoughtful expression on his face and swallowing before he spoke again. "I know that you kicked their asses."

Dean knew what the younger man was referring to and was unable to hide his smirk.

"When I went back to school they were scared shit-less of me, not to mention all those guys were sporting some pretty colourful bruises." Sam recalled with an amused smirk.

"Karma's a bitch." Dean quipped.

Sam chuckled at that, rolling his eyes. "What I can't figure out is what you did to Lori, because I know you didn't hit her."

Dean would be lying if he said that he didn't love how his little brother never questioned the possibility of him ever crossing certain lines. Though there were times he had been tempted to do just that.

"No, I just had a talk with her." He answered vaguely.

Sam studied him, looking for clues he wasn't going to find, before giving up with a huff.

"I could have taken care of them, you know." He stated, a dimply smile on his face as he proceeded to stare across the table.

"Yeah, I know, but you didn't have to." Dean replied simply.

Sam's face went from entertained to appreciative as he grinned, his eyes shining with the emotion that always made his big brother's throat clench up.

Love.

"Thanks for that." The younger boy declared softly and sincerely.

Dean grunted in response, feeling uncomfortable with the chick-flick moment they had created.

Sam roughly kicked his leg under the table, grinning when Dean nearly coughed on his sandwich in surprise, while he dug into his own meal. Dean watched the young man eating, content that he was finally getting some food in him and that his body was cooperating, for the moment.

Dean hated how his little brother's own body was often out of his control. He hated that he had to deal with the repercussions of his older brother's and his father's failures. He hated that people treated the kid differently because of it.

But he had vowed to himself a long time ago that he would look out for Sam. And that meant doing everything he could to protect him, to keep him safe and healthy. Whether that involved fighting against Sam's stupid independent streak, fighting with their father, fighting the weather, or fighting any and all of the scumbags who mistreated his kid brother.

He would fight everyone and everything for Sammy.


	12. Chapter 12

It was evening before they made their way over to the house where all the disappearances had occurred.

"Yup, it certainly looks like a haunted house." Dean grumbled, staring over at the wooden structure that had most definitely seen better days. The building was deteriorating, rotting right through. It looked as if one harsh windstorm could topple the whole thing to the ground.

Sam shook his head in exasperation as he came to stand beside his brother at the trunk. Dean looked down into their arsenal, and then over at Sam's vibrating fingers, trying to decide what weapons the kid could handle. The younger man paid him no mind as he grabbed a crowbar and hooked it onto his belt. Next, he grabbed the shotgun and pocketed several extra rocksalt shells.

Dean bit his tongue to keep from questioning Sam about his capabilities. He wasn't sure the kid would be able to grip the large weapon, let alone pull the trigger or refill it – if it became necessary – but he had to trust that his brother knew what he was doing. He knew better than to ever think for a moment that Sam would fail to protect him, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't concerned about the younger man protecting himself.

"I got this, Dean."

The confident statement had the hunter tearing his gaze away from the long trembling fingers and up at Sam's face. He was looking at his big brother, a small smile playing on his lips and his eyes oozing understanding.

"I know." Dean remarked gruffly, grabbing his own choice of weapons before slamming the trunk closed, and heading toward the house.

He heard Sam fall into step behind him, and felt at ease. They had been hunting together for a while now, but his heart still settled when he could sense the younger man at his back. He had grown up accustomed to having his little brother following him, and not only when they were hunting. When the kid had gone off to school, everything had changed. He had missed - not only having someone watch his back - but having someone around who he was in sync with, having someone who trusted him and who he trusted so implicitly in return, having someone who constantly reminded him of who he was and what was important to him.

Dean's own identity was wrapped up so completely in his little brother that without him, he not only lost half of his soul, but he lost his focus, and he lost himself.

Sam kept him in-check, he kept him balanced, he kept him from getting lost in the hunt.

He kept Dean… _Dean_.

And he did it all without saying a single word.

Damn, he had missed his kid.

"Alright, let's stick together on this one. The police have searched the house several times and never found any of the missing people, so we need to stay together and make sure we don't get sucked into whatever hiding place this spirit has been stashing the bodies." He reasoned.

Sam nodded in agreement. As stubborn as the kid was, he nearly never questioned his big brother when they were on a hunt. During the research and planning, Sam was nothing but inquiries, but when it came to the actual execution of the hunt, he followed Dean's lead without reservation, trusting him to know what was best. It was a trust Sam had never given to their father (or rather a trust the man never earned) it was something the older boy wasn't sure he deserved, but was extremely fucking grateful for.

They crept up the porch, all subtlety ruined by the creak of each wooden floorboard and the scream of the hinges on the front door. They walked in together, their shoulders brushing as Sam watched Dean's back and Dean watched Sam's front.

They searched the house, the main floor first and then they marched up to the top floor. Every corner that they rounded they had their weapons ready and were fully prepared for an attack at any point, but none came.

"Well that was anti-climactic." Dean mumbled as they returned to the first floor.

"I don't understand where all the victims disappeared to." Sam pondered, glancing curiously around the living room.

"Is there a basement or a cellar of some sort?"

"Not on the blueprints for the build." Sam dismissed with a shake of his head.

Dean frowned. "Well maybe we should circle around the house to make sure. Some of the older houses had separate access points to the cellars."

Sam nodded in agreement and they made their way back to the front entrance, only to have the large wooden door slam closed in front of them.

"What the hell?" Dean barked, as they both hefted their shotguns up, ready to take aim at anything that moved.

They spun around at the sound of the large grandfather clock chiming. The strange thing was the hands on the clock hadn't moved since they entered, displaying a time of 2:20, which it was not. The clock proceeded to clang, so Dean slid the handgun out of his waistband and shot three holes in the face of the old time-piece. The room fell quiet and he looked over to Sam, who had sheer amusement painted across his expression.

"What?" The older boy asked.

"Seriously? You just shot a clock, Dean. You a little trigger happy or something?" Sam questioned with a smirk.

"It was annoying." He shrugged dismissively, about to make another comment before an eerie voice floated through the air.

" _Two boys come to play? Two boys want to die today?_ " A high female tone sang throughout the house.

The hunters stood at the ready, looking all around, trying to find the source of the sound.

" _Oh, look, they brought toys! It will be all the more fun to kill the boys!_ "

The second line of the psychotic ballad, was followed by a squeal of manic laughter.

"You seeing anything?" He asked Sam, not failing to notice how the voice was getting louder with each word.

"Nothing." His brother grunted, flinching as the clock began to chime again.

Something that was more than concerning seeing as how Dean had shot the face right off it, there was no way that hunk of crap should be working.

" _Hope you both said farewell to your mommies. No one will ever be finding your bodies._ "

Dean clenched his jaw, unimpressed with the latest lyric, and the gleeful way it was recited.

"Come little ghosty it's time to die, so then Sam can buy me some pie." He sang out. He had his eyes scanning the room for movement, but he didn't fail to notice the smirk that pulled at Sam's lips.

"You're such a child." The younger man cackled, amusement colouring his exasperation.

"She started it." Dean retorted, instinctively ducking as a lamp came flying at his noggin.

" _Cruel boys die faster! Bite your tongue or be ready to suffer._ "

Sam shot a few rounds in the direction where the lamp had come from, but was interrupted by a chair that sailed in from the other side of the room and slammed into his back.

"Sam!" Dean cried out, watching as the tall frame tumbled to the ground, only to scramble back up a second later. "Where the hell is she?" He shouted, shooting off into the kitchen, near the table where the chair had originally been resting.

"No idea." Sam grunted, ducking as a glass plate flew toward his face.

"Hey! Come at me, you bitch!" Dean hollered, trying to get the spirit's attention on him, as another piece or dishware was launched at his brother.

"We need to burn her body." Sam stated, pulling him out of the path of a flying mirror.

"We've got to find the damn thing first." Dean pointed out, shoving Sam around the corner as the kitchen table sailed across the room.

" _That's what you want to see? Just dead unimportant little me?"_

The house became still at the words. Sam and Dean stood in the middle of the mess, panting from the exertion of dodging soaring objects, weapons raised and ready for battle.

"Yeah that's right, sweetheart. Show us where your bones are." He muttered, more to himself than the psychotically-poetic spirit.

" _I must warn you that there is a hefty fee; after all, nothing in life is free."_

Before he was able to decrypt the latest line, a nearly-translucent young lady appeared behind Sam, smiling sickly at the older hunter as she grabbed his brother's collar and then they both disappeared from sight. Dean wasn't given even a second to aim and shoot, and he didn't think Sam had even registered the spirit's presence before she grabbed hold of him and they both vanished. Dean stared at the spot Sam had been standing just a moment ago, where only his shotgun and crowbar remained.

"No! SAM!" He shouted, frantically searching for his little brother, listening for any noise that would indicate his whereabouts. "You bring him back here, you, supernatural piece of shit!" He ordered, slamming the butt of his shotgun through the wall, out of sheer fury.

" _You best save your breath, or you will join him in death._ " The spirit rhymed as she appeared a few short feet in front of the remaining hunter.

Dean clenched his shotgun, wanting nothing more than to unload it in the face that was smiling ecstatically, but he needed to know where his little brother was more than he needed to satisfy his mounting rage.

"Where is he? What'd you do with my brother?" He ground out, his jaw clenching in violent ire.

" _You can run away from here, or you can join the boy there."_ She sang out playfully.

"I'm not leaving without Sam." He declared, loud and clear.

" _I can take you to your friend, but with him your life will meet a bitter end."_

"I don't give a shit, just take me." He demanded, tossing his shotgun to the ground and taking a step closer to the shimmering figure.

The young lady tilted her translucent head to the side, a curious look replacing her previous expression of absolute glee.

" _I'm offering to set you free? But with your brother you would rather be_?"

"Damn right, you psychotic bitch."

" _You will die."_

It wasn't a rhyme this time, or a song, or a game. It was an assured statement, both a warming and a promise, a guarantee.

Dean didn't even have to think, not for a moment.

"I don't care. Take me to Sam. I'd rather die with him than walk out of here free and clear." He admitted to more than he had intended to, but it was all the truth.

The spirit appeared perplexed, but it was only a second before the gleeful grin spread sickeningly across her face and she reached out to Dean. He had to force myself not to react as she wrapped her cold ghost fingers around his wrist, fighting every instinct in his body that was screaming at him to fight. He couldn't find Sam without her, and even if there was a chance that he could, it was a risk he wouldn't take, not with Sammy on the hook.

Dean felt a rush of air, and sensed the world twist around him. He closed his eyes, fighting off the nausea that hit, and then – as if nothing at all had occurred – he found himself standing in a dark room.

He glanced next to him in time to see the spirit fade out of sight. He looked around the room. There were bodies littering the small area. Some were nearly skeletal, others were in various stages of decomposition, and two appeared to be recently deceased – they looked very much like the pictures of the latest victims he had seen not long ago. He continued scanning until his gaze landed on a long frame sprawled on its side against the far wall. All facial features were hidden behind a curtain of hair, but he already knew who it was.

"Sam!" He called, rushing over to the younger man.

Unease settled over him at the absence of a reply. He swept the unruly brown locks away and held his little brother's face between his hands. His heart stopped at the cool feeling of his brother's skin, the kid was so pale; the only colour to be found was the red blood leaking down the side of his head. Dean's hand shook as he placed two fingers against Sam's neck, praying to anyone and anything that he would find a pulse.

"C'mon Sammy. Don't you dare leave me." He begged, his voice shaking as he waited to feel the thump of life beneath his fingers.

A sigh of relief rushed from his lungs as he found what he had been pleading for.

"That's my boy." He praised softly, swiping away the moisture that had accumulated in his eyes. He wanted to check him over – knew that he should – clearly the kid had been treated roughly, but he just couldn't tear his eyes away from Sam's face. He slid his fingers off the long neck and placed his palm against Sam's chest, just needing a minute of feeling the beat of his heart, to remind himself that his kid was alright. He kept staring at the younger man's eyelids, willing them to open.

"Wake up for me, buddy, okay? Just for a minute. I just need a second." He begged, combing his hair to the side of his forehead with his fingers, then palming his cheek, to keep his head up. As if Sam could sense how badly he needed him to be conscious, he began to come around.

"De?" He slurred.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me, I'm right here. Can you open your eyes for me, kiddo?" He questioned, using the sleeve to wipe some blood off Sam's brow, as he gently rubbed his chest.

"De." He sighed, while he reached out blinding in his older brother's direction, his long fingers latching onto the front of his shirt.

"Right here, dude. Now let me see those puppy dog eyes of yours."

A shiver tore its way up the lanky frame. Dean frowned, now noticing how cold it was and knowing he would have to find a way to warm Sam up, but first he needed the kid to look at him.

"Sam! Come on, buddy. Open your eyes." His request was firm this time, letting Sam know that he was serious. He impatiently tapped him on the cheek, prompting a response.

"Stop." Sam mumbled, trying to roll his head away, but Dean wouldn't let him, not yet sure of the extent of all his injuries.

"I will, as soon as you look at me." He compromised.

Sam released an indignant huff, before slowly forcing his eyelids up.

"That's it." Dean praised unable to keep the smile from his face.

"Hey." The younger man rasped, once he could finally focus his gaze.

Before he could reply, Sam's eyes went wide and he gasped out in what sounded like pain, as he curled forward. His fingers pulled at Dean's shirt as he ground his forehead into his big brother's collarbone.

"What? Sam, what is it? Where you hurt?" The hunter questioned, panic rising in his chest as he listened to Sam's strangled breathing.

"L-left l-l-leg." He stuttered out, between agonized inhales.

Dean pulled back as much as the younger man would allow and scanned down his body until he landed on the source of his little brother's pain.

"Fuck." He spat. There was an object protruding from the calf of Sam's left leg. Dean wasn't able to identify the weapon, but whatever it was, it went in one side of the limb, and out the other. It appeared to have been stabbed right through the calf muscle.

"What the hell is that?" Dean muttered, fingers ghosting down the long leg as he did his best to analyze the injury without causing an escalation of agony.

He heard Sam mutter something into his chest.

"What?" He asked, ducking his head closer to his brother's mouth and rubbing his hand soothingly up and down his back, trying to ignore the shivers he could feel coursing through the thin frame.

"Bone." Sam repeated.

Dean squinted in confusion. It looked as though he had been stabbed through the muscle, but perhaps the bone had been broken as well.

"It's broken?"

Sam's head moved from side to side, his forehead pushing harder against Dean's collarbone.

"She stabbed him with a bone." He croaked.

Dean felt bile travel up his esophagus and was forced to swallow a few times before speaking again. "That thing shishkabobbing your leg, that's a bone?" He seethed, his distress morphing into fury.

He felt Sam's head move up and down against his chest.

"Yeah." He confirmed hoarsely. "She snapped it off one of the bodies, broke it in half and used the sharp edge to pierce my leg."

"That bitch!" Dean snapped, glaring over at his brother's bloody leg and the fucking _bone_ sticking out of it. He was pulled from his anger by the fingers that were wound into the front of his shirt, and were tugging him desperately closer.

"Whoah!" He exclaimed as he was nearly pulled off balance.

"Cold." Sam whispered, so quietly that he was pretty sure he hadn't intended for dean to even hear it.

"I know. I got you." He promised, wrapping both his arms around the shivering body and allowing Sam to tuck himself into the larger frame. They remained in that position for a few moments, until Sam was at least a little warmer and had regained his composure. Dean didn't move until the younger man began to pull away.

"You hurt anywhere else?"

"My head is pounding." Sam admitted quietly.

"Yeah, you got a cut up in your hairline, but it's not deep."

Sam nodded minutely at the information.

"What happened?"

"She grabbed me, and then we were here. Before she could disappear again, I grabbed the salt from my pocket and tossed it at her, she didn't like that. Next thing I knew I was airborne, slammed into the wall. I must have been out for a second because when I opened my eyes she was standing over me with the bone in her hand. I watched her break it in half, but before I could do anything, she rammed it into my leg. She said something about how my death would have been more pleasant if I hadn't caused trouble. She said I would die alone."

Sam shivered again, Dean wasn't sure if it was the memory, the thought of dying alone, or the cold, but regardless – he didn't like it.

"I don't remember what happened after that." He admitted.

Throughout his brother's recollection, Dean had been cleaning the blood from his face with his sleeve, placing pressure against the cut until the oozing had ended.

"I'm going to take a look at your leg." He warned him, being sure he was supported by the wall, before moving down closer to the injury.

It looked painful. Really fucking painful. Blood leaked out both the entrance point and the exit. The limb trembled, in what was likely equal parts pain and cold. The shin bone appeared to be intact, but the muscle was obviously perforated. Dean knew that the chance of an old human bone leading to an infection was pretty damn likely, but he also knew that if he were to remove the object than Sam could bleed out. So, for now, the possibility of an infection was better than the promise of death.

Either way, Dean needed to get his little brother some medical attention, and he needed to do it fast.

He slid out of his jacket and then out of his over-shirt. He tore off one of the flannel sleeves and used it as a tourniquet. Sam hissed as the fabric was cinched around his leg. Dean patted his brother's chest in apology, before standing to survey their surroundings.

The walls around them were brick, the floor was made of dirt, and the ceiling high above them was wooden, and there was no apparent exit anywhere. He pulled out his cell, not surprised to see there was no signal. He grunted, shoving the useless device back into his pocket.

"How the hell do we get out of here?" He wondered aloud, taking a closer inspection of the surrounding walls, being sure there was no hidden door.

"Feels like we are under ground. We've got to be beneath the house, in a cellar of some sort." Sam observed.

Dean instantly looked up at the information, searching for anything in the ceiling that looked as though it may be an exit.

"She teleported us in here somehow, but there should still be a manual exit." Sam mused, as he gazed around, inhaling sharply as his attempt at adjusting positions jostled his injured limb.

"Hey! Keep still, dude. The last thing we need is for you make that leg any worse." Dean scolded, not surprised by the irritated look Sam threw his way, but satisfied when he refrained from shifting any further.

The elder hunter turned his attention back to the ceiling above them, it looked as though there was an outline of some sort of square trap door. It was way too high up though, there was no chance of him reaching the damn thing, and nothing that he could stand on to get closer…except, maybe, the bodies. He surveyed the perimeter of the space, counting up the bodies, mentally calculating how high they would be if he stacked them on top of each other.

"Dean, no. That's - you can't." Sam interjected, reading his mind.

"I'm not psyched about it either, but you seeing anything else I can stand on?" At the silence, he continued. "I don't have a lot of options here, kiddo." He glanced back at his brother, who appeared to be all levels of disturbed, but nodded his head in understanding.

The process was nauseating to say the least, dragging bodies across the floor to stack in the middle of the room was nasty enough, but their various levels of decomposition made it all the more repulsive. Every time Dean looked over at Sam, he was either staring sympathetically at him or cringing in disgust at the growing pile of corpses. However, neither of his chosen expressions were capable of hiding the agony the kid was in or how cold he was. The pain lining his brother's face only grew more intense over time, and once Dean had finished constructing the mountain of death – the title he had granted the gruesome structure – he could clearly spot the shivers attacking Sam's thin frame. Dean caught sight of the jacket he left on the ground next to the younger hunter when he was tending to his leg, and shook his head at his own stupidity as he walked toward it. He snagged the coat and crouched down in front of his brother, because of course Sam wouldn't just think to put the damn thing on by himself.

"Lean forward." He ordered softly.

"Dean, it's getting colder, you're going to need that."

Damn, this stupid kid, stabbed in the leg, shaking like a fucking leaf, and concerned for his big brother.

"Nah man, as it turns out, stacking bodies makes you work up quite a sweat."

Sam made a face, but allowed the older man to leverage him forward and slide his jacket in behind him. Dean pulled it over the broad shoulders and waited for Sam to slip his arms into the sleeves, the kid's hands were shaking so violently he had a difficult time lining them up with the holes.

"Fuck, Sammy." Dean cursed, grabbing onto one of his hands as it appeared out the end of the sleeve. His fingers were frozen, you would think they had been in a damn ice bucket or something.

"I'm alright." Sam dismissed.

"We should have brought your gloves." Dean bit out with a frown.

"Too late for any of that now. Couldn't shoot proper with them anyways. I'm fine."

Dean levelled Sam with a disbelieving look, and then glanced down at his leg. "Yeah, you're friggen fantastic." He grunted.

Dean patted his brother's chest before stepping away and turning back to his abhorrent creation. The pile of bodies was high enough that he was going to have to physically climb it to be on top.

"I'm pretty sure this is this is the nastiest thing I've ever done." He grumbled as he began the unsteady ascension.

"What about that waitress in Tampa."

Sam's dry comment caused a surprised burst of laughter to ripple through the older man. He had to make a conscious effort not to look down and smile at the kid, as he did not want to lose his precarious footing.

"That's a close second, but this is worse." He replied, doing his best not to breathe through his nose. Death was a rancid smell, and being in direct contact with a stack of decomposing bodies, made that scent all the more putrid.

Once he was finally atop the mountain of death dean straightened from his crouched position and reached up, only to feel the corpse shift beneath him, threatening to send him to the ground.

"Careful." Sam warned, as he fought to stay on his feet.

The pile was only about six feet tall, but the climb back up would be no fun, so Dean did his best to regain his balance. The moment he was steady enough, he stretched out as high up as he could, his fingers extended as far as possible, and still a good foot away from the wood ceiling.

"Damnit!" He cursed, scanning the ground to be sure he hadn't missed a body, or five.

A gasp sounding from the corner of the room had him looking back toward Sam, his dumbass little brother who was using the wall to leverage himself into vertical position.

"Hey! Cut that shit out!"

Sam stalled, hand against the wall supporting his half-crouch as he panted in pain from exertion. The younger man looked up at him, twitching his head to the side to get his hair out of the way, before he spoke. "I can help."

"Yeah, you can help by not making your leg worse."

Sam shook his head. "No, I can help you reach the trapdoor. I can boost you up."

"Oh really? Because I could just barely climb up here and I have two working legs. And even _if_ you could get up here, you seriously think you'd be able to lift me up high enough to reach the top? And then what? Hoist me onto your shoulders so I can open the door and get out? What are you the Hulk?" He ranted, trying not to lose his balance.

"You can boost me up?" Sam suggested.

"Yeah, sure, should I also carry your eight-foot ass up the pile of shifting bodies as well? Just let me get my cape first." He retorted.

Sam chewed down on his lip in thought, before slowly dropping back down to sit against the wall. "Are you close enough to get a signal?'

Dean raised his eyebrow in consideration of his brother's first reasonable idea. He dug out his cellphone, flipping it open and relieved to see a single bar of service, but his disappointment returned as he watched it flicker.

"Barely, it will probably drop the call after like two seconds." He grumbled.

"Send a text."

Dean rolled his eyes, wondering how he had survived hunting for the last few years without his sasquatch- sized voice of reason. He searched for Bobby, knowing he'd probably only get enough of a signal for one quick text, and he was the only one they knew who would jump into action once receiving it. Heaven knew that John was a lost cause.

"What are you going to say?" Sam inquired, already knowing who it was Dean was going to attempt to contact.

"Sending coordinates. It has to be a short message that can send before the damn cell signal drops off again."

"You know the coordinates of the house?"

"No, stupid. The coordinates of the town. I looked it up on the map on the way here, remember?"

"You did, I never really pay much attention to those." Sam muttered, practically to himself.

Sam hadn't spent the last few years hunting alone with their father, the ex-marine was all about coordinates. Sam understood them just fine, but when speaking of a location he often just mentioned the state and town – like normal people did.

Coordinates were a shorter text, and the wobbling stack of bodies beneath Dean's feet dictated that time was of the essence. Dean had to step up on the tips of his toes to get a signal strong enough to send it. He extended the phone up as far as he could, watching the one bar flicker for a few seconds before the text appeared to have sent. There was no time for celebration, before he could even shut the phone, his human ladder disassembled, and sent him crashing to the ground.

He heard Sam shout his name.

Dean didn't have enough time to orient himself and control his fall. His back slammed into the ground, followed by his head; he felt it connect with something hard and unyielding. Pain shot through his skull and reverberated through his brain. The dismal cellar quickly began to fade away and he could just barely hear Sam's concerned tone past the buzzing in his ears.

' _Sam better not fucking move.'_ Was Dean's last thought as his world went dark.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean's head was pounding. His brain felt like mush. His body seemed detached, as though it was floating. And his mind was blessedly blank.

He could sense consciousness within his reach, but was tempted to turn from it, not wanting to face the pain he could feel waiting for him on the other side. But a small sound that penetrated through his mind, changed everything. It was just a name, his name, but that way it was said – no, the way it was pleaded - brought his soul to life. His brain was unable to form a thought, but that didn't matter, because every instinct inside of him came alive and told him that he needed to get to that voice.

That voice mattered.

That voice needed him.

And he needed that voice.

Dean wasn't even sure who he was or what happened, but he knew enough to know – his _body_ knew enough to know – that he needed to do _anything_ to get to that voice. He pushed through the fog, forcing it away; and fighting to focus, to find consciousness.

The pain hit first.

His head felt as though it had played host to a Metallica concert. The thought of moving his skull so much as an inch made him nauseous. His spine was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The rest of his body was tingling, from the tips of his fingers to his toes.

Dean wanted so desperately to retreat into the darkness, where he could hideaway to escape the pain. But he was unable to deny his body's need, its instinctive persistence, to get to the voice that he could still hear floating over him.

He fought to open his eyes, the task fifty-times more strenuous than it should have been. He felt icy fingers resting against his cheeks and a hand placing gentle pressure over his heart. The voice that had seemed so out-of-reach was growing in volume, and keeping in time with the warm air he could feel ghosting over the left side of his face.

"C'mon, Dean. Wake-up, man. Don't leave me alone down here. You know I always get myself into trouble without you around."

Even in his barely-conscious state, Dean could detect that those nonchalant words were failing miserably at disguising the pleading tone they were stated in.

"You've napped long enough. Time to wake up, Dean. C'mon, please."

The little brat knew his big brother couldn't resist that. The strained, desperate tone was bad enough, but the p-word did him in, the same way it always had.

Sam almost never used it, growing up he would ask for what he needed and Dean would do his best to give it to him – more often than not he never even had to ask – the kid certainly never had to beg, Dean always made sure of that. Sam thanked him a lot, even as a child, no matter how many times the older boy told him it was unnecessary, but _please_ was a word they rarely ever had to resort to, especially when speaking to one another. Dean had used it a time or two on teenage Sam, when he could no longer take the fighting between him and their father, but seldom did he resort to such measures. Sam had almost always done as his big brother asked while they were growing up. The youngest Winchester would often make inquiries, but if it was Dean asking, he would do it. Now with John asking, well that was a very different story.

Either way, _please_ was a word Sam and Dean only ever elected to utilize when it was truly vital.

The elder hunter released a louder than necessary groan as he worked to pry his eyelids open.

"Dean?" Sam's voice went up several octaves, his trembling hand palming his brother's cheek.

"M'here, Sammy." He mumbled, staring up at him through the slits of his eyes and clumsily bringing his hand up to pat the long arm.

"Oh, thank God." The younger man sighed, dropping his head down to rest on Dean's chest, taking in shaky breaths.

"S'okay, Sammy. I'm okay." He assured, putting in effort to clarify his speech. Dean dropped his hand on the back of the shaggy head, patting it briefly before moving to the back of his neck and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Dean hissed at the pain that slammed into him when he fought to raise his head.

Sam's forehead lifted quickly from where it had been resting on his chest and the lean body leaned over him, a large hand sliding to cradle the back of Dean's skull.

"Whoah, easy there. You smacked your head pretty good, try not to move."

"It's my head, dude. I'm going to have to move it eventually." He dismissed, getting his hands beneath him and fighting to push himself up.

"You could've taken a minute." Sam grumbled, helping to pull his brother into a seated position.

"Hey man, you were the one bitching about me napping for too long." He argued, attempting to distract himself from the pain thundering in his noggin.

"Yeah, whatever, dude." Sam grunted. "Let's get you over to rest against the wall."

Dean did his best not to shift his head as he used his arms to slide his butt across the floor. The process was made much easier by the strong arms that were aiding him along the way, until suddenly they were gone.

"Fuck."

The curse was so soft, Dean barely heard it, but he did hear the thump that followed. He faltered, working to stay vertical as his support vanished.

"Sam?" He called out. He was fighting back the nausea, working to raise his head, when the sound of retching reached his ears. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't the one tossing his cookies. He ignored the agony in his skull and forced his eyes up, searching for his little brother. Sam was kneeling on one leg, the other was stretched out at his side. His hands were on the ground, keeping him from toppling over into the vomit being expelled from his mouth.

It wasn't until that moment that Dean remembered what had happened. The house, the spirit, the cellar, Sam's leg, it all came rushing back. He cringed as the information flooded his pulsing head.

"Shit, Sammy!" He reached forward, his hand grazing his brother's broad trembling shoulders.

"S'okay. Give me a sec. Just stay still."

Dean snorted at the order, inching closer to his little brother, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Stop moving, Dean. You're gonna hurt yourself." Sam grit out between gags as he shook off his brother's grip.

"It's not me I'm worried about." Dean grumbled, grasping the younger man's arm once again.

"Never is." Sam rasped, spitting on the ground a couple more times before heaving in a few deep breaths.

The cellar spun as Dean worked to slide toward Sam. He watched as the kid dragged his hand across his mouth, before stumbling to his feet, or foot rather, seeing as how he appeared to be putting weight on only his good leg.

"Sam. Get off your feet! What the fuck are you doing?" Dean scolded, trying and failing to shake off the iron grip that wrapped around his biceps and tugged him backwards until, suddenly, he was resting against the wall. He was about to order his brother to take a seat, when Sam crumpled unceremoniously to the ground by his side.

"You should have stayed sitting. What the fuck were you doing moving around?"

"I'm okay." Sam dismissed, his long fingers sifting through the shorter hair. Dean winced when the searching touch grazed the bump he could feel swelling at the back of his skull, but he didn't let the pain distract him.

"You just harfed all over the place. You're not okay." He argued, groaning when Sam angled his head forward, so he could get a better look.

"That was just from pain. I'm fine." The younger man grumbled, whispering a soft apology as he deftly examined the lump on the back of Dean's noggin.

"Oh yeah, you were in so much pain that you vomited. You're totally fucking fine."

Sam's fingers were shaking as they leaned Dean further over his legs and traced their way down his back.

"It was bad, but it's better now."

"You have a bone skewering your goddamn leg, Sam." He snapped.

"Oh really? I forgot." The younger hunter quipped, his fingers trailing his brother's spine. Dean flinched a Sam placed pressure on a sensitive spot. His shirt was pulled up and he shivered as his bare skin was exposed to the chill.

"Fuck, Sammy. Your fingers are frozen." He exclaimed, wincing the brat probed the sore spot on his spine.

My little brother tugged his clothing back into place. "You've got a giant bump on the back of your head, and the makings of a hell of a bruise blanketing most of your back."

Dean grunted in response and allowed himself to rest against the wall, now that he wasn't being poked and prodded.

"How's your head feel? You seeing okay? Dizziness? Nausea?"

"Fine. Yes, yes, and yes. But the spinning is stopping, and _**I**_ managed to keep my cookies down, which is more than you can claim."

"This is your second concussion in a week. I don't like that." Sam declared, his voice oozing concern.

"Really? I'm loving it." Dean joked, attempting to get the kid to relax a little.

No luck.

Sam's face remained scrunched in fear and concern as he stared at his brother.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like, I'm worse off than you are." Dean grumbled.

Sam hissed as he sat back against the wall and straightened his injured leg.

"What the fuck were you doing moving around?"

"Helping my moronic big brother." Sam declared, his tone was flat, but a small smirk betrayed his amusement.

"Oh really?" Dean shot back, maintaining a levity in his voice as he leaned forward to get a better look at his kid brother's mess of a limb.

"Yeah. He thought it would be a good idea to build a corpse tower—

"Mountain of Death." Dean corrected offhandedly, reaching down and grazing his hand over the wound on Sam's lower leg. It had been bleeding again, probably because the idiot had been marching around on it, but it was a slow trickle now. Thankfully, the bone hadn't shifted or come loose, if it had blood would be pouring out. Dean cringed at the mental image, and shifted his gaze, looking over the lanky young man at his side.

"My apologies. After the construction of Death Mountain, my dumbass brother decided to climb the damn thing."

"Sounds like a real loon."

"You have no idea." Sam scoffed.

"Handsome though." Dean added.

Sam twitched a smiled, which rapidly morphed into a grimace as an aggressive shutter tore through his thin frame.

"Is it the pain or the cold?" Dean questioned sombrely, wondering which was to blame for his brother's violent shaking.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, before turning to give him a hopeless look with the saddest goddamn smile he'd ever seen. Because the kid didn't fucking know. He was in so much pain and so bloody cold that he couldn't even be sure which ailment was causing the incessant trembling.

"You shouldn't have been moving around." Dean growled.

"Yeah, okay. Next time I'll just leave you lying unconscious on the ground." Sam spat back sarcastically.

"Good."

The younger man gave him an exasperated look, anger flashing through his hazel eyes. "You are un-fucking-believable."

Dean waited for the remainder of the lecture. He could tell by the frustrated edge in his brother's voice that it was on its way.

"If it had been me who had fallen and gotten myself knocked out, nothing would have stopped you from helping me. Nothing. Sure as shit not a cut."

"It's not a cut, Sam. You have a fucking bone shishkabobing your leg."

"A gaping laceration, a stab wound, a broken bone, a fucking amputation, none of that would stop you from getting to me if I was hurt."

Only Dean's little brother could manage a tone that was equal parts admiration and indignation.

"You would have done anything to come to get to me. You wouldn't care if you aggravated an injury or got yourself hurt in the process. But I walk on an injured leg for a few damn minutes, and that is completely unacceptable. How come you expect so little from me?"

The came flying out of left fucking field and knocked Dean on his ass – metaphorically ofcourse because he hadn't yet managed to get off his ass.

"Sam, that's not—

"That's it, isn't it? You can risk anything for me. Pain, endangerment, death, you can chance any of that for me. Hell, you've done it a million times before. But I am never expected to do the same for you. I'm your brother, I would do anything for you. How can you not understand that?"

Sam wasn't angry anymore. The kid was hurt. And that was so much worse. Dean opened his mouth to correct his deeply mistaken little brother, but before he could get a word out, Sam continued.

"Then again, why would you? It's not like there's any evidence to back-up my claim." He stated with a shrug, his hair falling to cover his face as his gaze was directed to the floor.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The older man balked. Lawyer-Sam was making an appearance, and Dean was left scrambling to understand how he arrived at such a bullshit conclusion.

"It's nothing." He dismissed with a despondent shake of his head.

"Are you saying that you've never put yourself at risk for me?" Dean questioned in disbelief, after taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

Sam's evasive shrug was a clear answer.

"You seriously think that?"

"I watch your back when we hunt. I do what he can. But it's not the same." Sam whispered to the concrete floor.

"You don't think you've ever put yourself in danger - put your life on the line - to help me?"

The young man glanced over at Dean, his eyes drowning in shame as he shook his head.

Dean was baffled. How could his brilliant little brother be such an absolute moron?

"So, that time we were hunting that werewolf and the damn thing was breathing down my neck, you distracted it because you wanted some one-on-one time with its claws? Not because you were trying to save my sorry ass?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"It only got so close to you because I fucked-up and didn't take it out."

"You didn't do anything wrong! You lost the feeling in your hands. There was nothing you could have done."

"Either way, it was my fault that it almost got to you."

"That doesn't mean you didn't then risk your life to save mine."

"It doesn't count if I'm the reason you're in danger." Sam stated.

"Oh, so now there are rules to this dumb-ass game of yours."

The younger hunter shook his head and looked away, glancing aimlessly around the cellar, looking at everything but his brother.

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes as he realized that if he wanted to get his point across to his little brother, he was going to have to accommodate his stupid rules.

"Fine. The Christmas break of 1999."

Sam squinted at the date, the hazel gaze finally moving to meet the green one.

"You remember it?"

"I think so. We were at Bobby's?"

Dean nodded.

"Dad spent the day with us, before taking off on a hunt. He said we could stay with Bobby until school started-up again in January."

"Yeah, he figured he might as well wait to move us to a new town until you had to be back in school. So, he left us for a mini-vacation at the salvage yard, which gave him the freedom to run all over the country on a hunting spree."

Sam smirked at that.

It had been nice. They both got some solid downtime to just hang around and be brothers for a bit. they had a couple weeks of freedom from hunting or training, and they spent them joking around, going to movies, and having some fun. All that, accompanied by Bobby's cooking, made it the best vacation either of them had ever had.

"You remember what happened that New Year's Eve?" Dean inquired, directing the conversation back to its purpose.

Sam frowned, his forehead wrinkling as he pondered. It wasn't long before his eyebrows rose and comprehension dawned on his young face.

Dean watched as Sam got lost in the memory, and allowed himself to do the same.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

" _You didn't have to come." Dean declared, looking down to the teen trudging through the snow at his side._

" _Neither did you."_

" _I'm just helping out Bobby. It would have been okay if you wanted to stay back at the house." He assured._

" _I don't mind helping." Sam stated with a shrug._

" _You'll tell me if you get too cold?"_

_The teenager rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dean. Although I doubt that will be possible with all the layers you've got me wearing." He responded, gesturing down at himself._

_Dean smirked. He did have the kid in a lot of layers. He had sweatpants on over his jeans. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, button-up shirt, sweatshirt, and his winter coat. He also had thick thermal gloves on his hands, that were in no way inhibiting his grip on the shotgun._

" _Good." The older boy nodded._

_They continued their way through the snow, searching for tracks left behind by the monster allegedly residing in the woods._

_The brother's had been at Bobby's for a few weeks now. Dad had sent them to their surrogate uncle's place as soon as the holiday break began. John showed up in time for Christmas Day and was gone again by the next morning. They didn't mind though, Sam and him, they enjoyed hanging out at the salvage yard. Sam got to geek out all he wanted in Bobby's eclectic library and Dean got to spend some quality time pampering the Impala. His brother and he had been able to spend time together that didn't involve training or hunting. They didn't have to worry about food or shelter or how much cash they had left. They just got to hang out and be brothers; that was how things worked when they stayed with Bobby. It was great._

_The older hunter had received a call that morning from a friend of his who had a lead on some supernatural beast that was supposed to be holed-up just outside of Sioux Falls. Bobby had said he was going to check it out, and Dean had offered to go with him. It was always good to have someone at your back when you were hunting, and besides, Dean owed the old man. Bobby had made it possible for Dean's little brother to have a slice of 'normal' something the kid was always craving, it was only fair that he do a little leg work to return the favor. Sam had quickly declared that he would be coming along as well. Dean had tried to talk him out of it, proclaiming his displeasure to the kid exposing himself to the cold elements. But Sam had been stubborn as ever and insisted he would be fine and promised to wear as many layers as he requested. Bobby hadn't argued, but a twitch of his lips had divulged his appreciation for the back-up._

_So, there they were, trudging through the snow, trying to track down some mythological fugly. It was a shitty way to spend New Year's Eve. Not that it was the first one they had spent hunting, but it still sucked._

" _When we're finished here we'll grab some dinner, rent a couple good movies, and pick-up some junk-food. We'll make a night of it." Dean offered._

" _We don't have to." Sam shrugged._

" _We'll get pizza. You can choose whatever toppings you want."_

" _It's okay, Dean. I don't mind helping Bobby._

" _I know. Neither do I. But it's still New Year's Eve. I've got to make sure you have a little bit of fun."_

" _You don't have to." Sam repeated honestly, glancing up at the taller boy._

" _I want to." He replied simply, intentionally avoiding the gaze he could feel Sam pinning him with, because he knew it would be one oozing with unnecessary gratefulness. Like he was doing something great by giving the kid a half-decent holiday._

" _Can I really choose the toppings?"_

_Dean smirked at the question, glancing down to his left at his little brother._

" _Sure, dude. You can even put that pineapple shit on it if you want to, Samantha. A girl has got to get her fruit fix." He chuckled, nudging against the small teen._

_Sam smiled, his dimples making a brilliant appearance as he elbowed Dean away._

" _There's nothing feminine about fruit, Dean." He argued light-heartedly._

" _Whatever you say, Sammy."_

_The younger boy's lips were still pulled up as he shook his head in fond exasperation._

_They continued their walk in companionable silence, until they arrived at a divergence in their path. There was an incline to the left and a clearing to the right._

" _Right or left?"_

_Dean frowned at the question. He didn't want to split-up. He never liked separating from his little brother. But Sam was old enough and skilled enough to look after himself. He was past the age of his big brother being able to dictate his every move, and if he didn't allow the stubborn boy some level of independence, Sam was going to resent him. That was something Dean had learned once his kid had entered his teenage years._

_Besides, this hunt wasn't particularly dangerous; there didn't even seem to be any creature in the woods._

" _I'll take right, you go left." He responded reluctantly. It was better that Sam remain sheltered by trees on elevated ground, then be vulnerable in the clearing._

_Sam gave the older hunter a knowing look, as though he could read the thoughts running through his mind – which would not surprise Dean in the least – and rolled his eyes before trekking off to the left._

_Dean smirked, watching the slim frame disappear up the hill and ruefully shook his head as he marched toward the clearing. The defoliated area was vast, it was more than a simple clearing, it was acres of open space. He instinctively raised his shotgun, feeling exposed as he stepped out from the coverage provided by the trees. He made his way across the ground, moving quickly, as his eyes scanned for danger. It wasn't until he heard the crack, that he realized the clearing wasn't what it seemed. It wasn't an open field._

_It was a frozen lake._

_Dean cried out in shock as the ground shattered beneath his feet and he abruptly plunged into the freezing cold water. He felt his left foot break through something and tried to kick it loose as he swam in the direction he thought to be up. he broke the surface with a desperate gasp, coughing and gagging, as he struggled to tread water with one leg. He blinked the moisture from his eyes and reached forward, latching onto the edge of the ice and tugging his body over to it. He attempted to pull himself up, only to have the frozen element breakaway under the pressure. He went under again, and popped back up a moment later hacking out water as he blindly reached forward and found the edge of the ice once again. he placed his arms up onto the solidified surface; his hands, forearms, and elbows out of the lake and helping to keep his head up. He was breathing heavily, still coughing up liquid that had flooded his mouth and forced its way down his gullet._

" _Dean!"_

_His head shot up at the shout, his eyes blinking away the remaining moisture as he searched for young teen he knew to be the owner of that frightened voice. He found Sam at the edge of the clearing, making his way out onto the ice._

" _No! Sammy, stop!"_

_His little brother paused, but only for a moment._

" _It's Ice!" He warned._

" _I know." The younger hunter declared loud enough for it to reach his brother's ears, but not nearly at the volume Dean was. Sam wasn't panicked, but his face was pinched in concern as he inched his way toward his brother._

" _Stop moving, Sam! It's too dangerous!"_

" _It's okay, Dean. I can do it. I'm not as fat as you." He responded with a smirk._

_Dean wasn't amused and he would have expressed that if he hadn't been shivering and struggling to maintain his grip on the ice, without putting too much pressure on it. He didn't want to go under again. It was too cold and it was hard to swim when there was something trapping one of his feet and weighing him down._

" _I'm serious, Sam. Go get Bobby."_

_The young hunter frowned as he cautiously took another step. "I have no idea where he is. I'm not going to leave you here while I go wonder the whole damn forest."_

_Dean scowled, shivering. The kid had a point._

" _Guess I should have brought my cell." Sam muttered, inching closer._

_Dean grimaced. The kid had misplaced his phone and had been looking for it, but they were leaving for the hunt and Dean had told him not to worry about it, because he had his - the cellular device that was currently in his jean pocket, submerged in the water. Dean lifted one of his arms off the ice, nervous about losing his grip in the process to reach down and fish out his phone._

" _I could- it might—_

" _Just leave it, Dean. That piece of crap barely worked before, there's no way it's going to do any good now."_

_That was the truth. Dean mumbled a curse and returned his arm to where it had been resting on the ice. A crack resounded through the air, and Sam froze. Fear ricocheted through the older boy's body. The terrifying possibility of his little brother disappearing beneath the ice, filling him with dread._

_The frozen surface cracked, but it didn't break. Sam released a breath he must have been holding at the same time Dean did, before sliding tentatively closer._

" _Sam. Stop! You need to go back. Go to the truck and wait for Bobby."_

_The teen shook his head before his brother even finished speaking. "I'm not leaving you." He declared, confidently, even as another crack resonated from beneath his boots._

" _Don't be an idiot, Sam!"_

" _Sure, Dean. I'll get right on that." The younger boy muttered as he hesitantly continued his cautious approach._

" _This isn't a fucking joke!" Dean snapped._

_Sam glanced up at him, tearing his eyes momentarily from the perilous situation at his feet. "I'm. Not. Leaving. You." He repeated, his tone lethal as he annunciated each word with an intensity Dean had never heard him exude before._

" _You're not. You are just going for help." He reasoned, his teeth chattering as the arctic temperature began to seep through his bones._

" _I'm already closer to you than I am to solid ground. I'm not going back. Not without you. So, shut up about it already."_

_Dean was equal parts proud and infuriated by his little brother's assertive declaration. Sam's stern and authoritative voice sounding so much like John's, save that it was a few octaves higher._

_Dean wanted to yell and scream, demand and order that the kid back the hell up and return to safety. But he knew Sam. He was stubborn and headstrong and once he set his mind to something, there was nothing that could be done to change it. Dean knew that his cursing and hollering would only distract the teen; and as the teen inched his way across the hazardous surface, each step further cracking the ice and promising an impending shatter, he needed all the focus he could get. So instead, Dean clung nervously to the frozen lake and anxiously observed his little brother's cautious approach._

" _Careful, Sammy." He cautioned uselessly, ignoring the frigid temperature of his body by placing every ounce of his attention on Sam._

_The teen was nearly in reach now, and Dean wanted nothing more than to grab hold of him, but he didn't want to cause him to lose his balance._

" _What the hell are you doing?" He barked, as Sam removed his coat._

_His little brother did not grace the inquiry with a response, he simply spread his jacket on top of the ice to Dean's right._

" _Put your arms on there and hold onto it." He instructed._

_Dean frowned, but did as was requested. He lethargically lifted his shivering limbs and moved them onto the winter coat, gripping one of the sleeves once he was situated._

" _I'm going to pull the jacket. You need to hold on tight." Sam explained, his gaze steady and earnest._

" _It's not going to work. I tried to get out already and the ice broke." Dean warned._

" _That's because you were placing too much pressure on one spot, this way your weight should spread more evenly across the ice and keep it from giving away."_

_Dean nodded his understanding, clenching his jaw in an effort to prevent his teeth from chattering. Sam began to carefully pull on the clothing and as the older boy held on tight, he was lifted a little further onto the ice. His shoulders were out and his chest was beginning to rise from the water, when the weight on his foot pulled him backwards. Sam's arms shook as he held the coat and fought to keep his brother from slipping back beneath the surface._

" _Dean? What's wrong? What's happening?"_

_Dean was back to where he had been, still holding onto the jacket, but returned to his position at the edge of the ice. Only his arms and his head were out of the freezing liquid._

" _There's some-something on my f-f-foot." He chattered._

" _Can you get it off?" Sam inquired, with all the patience in the world, trying too look down into the water without shifting his balance._

_Dean concentrated kicking loose the offending object, but had as much luck as he had the last time he had attempted that same task. He tried to bring his leg up, as he forced one arm into the water, hoping to reach his foot and whatever was encasing it. His body wasn't cooperating. The cold had gotten to his muscles, and nothing was working the way he wanted it to. In the effort to reach his foot, he unintentionally released his hold on the coat and in the next second he was submerged back into the lake._

" _Dean!"_

_The cry was muffled through the water, but he heard it just the same._

_Dean knew he needed to get to it. He needed to swim back up. He needed air, and warmth, but more than anything he needed to get to that voice. But his limbs didn't agree, as they refused to function properly and do as his muddled mind was telling them to. His brain felt as though it had morphed into sludge, and his arms and legs felt heavy and numb. Just as panic began to take hold and he started to think he would never again see the light of day, or his kid brother's smile, something was tugging at Dean's collar. A moment later he broke back through the surface, greedily sucking in gulps of air, while simultaneously ejecting lake water that had stolen its way into his lungs._

" _Grab the edge, Dean. Grab it."_

_The older boy struggled to orient himself and reached out for the ice that was bound to be somewhere in front of him. His lead limbs flopped forward and found the frozen surface. He clumsily latched onto it, his fingers stinging from the cold as he pulled his body closer to the edge. His arms were manipulated until they were resting back where they had been, up onto the ice. He continued to breathe, inhaling oxygen he hadn't known he was being starved of, until finally his mind began to function, the sludge dissipating as his mental gears and cylinders began to fire once again. It was then that he realized whose hands had rescued him and were holding him steady._

" _Sam!" He called out, his voice raspy as he whipped his head around._

" _You're okay, Dean. It's alright. I got you. Just breathe." The tone was strong and steady and so goddamn sure that Dean almost forgot why he was upset._

_Almost._

" _What the hell are you doing? Get out of here." He snapped, his fury understated by the chattering of his teeth._

" _Just relax and hold on. I'm going to get that thing off your foot." Sam assured._

" _No." He growled, moving quicker than he had since being submerged in the chilled water, and clamping his trembling fingers around one of the teen's thin wrists._

" _Dean, don't do that. You've got to keep both your hands on the ice. I don't want you falling in again." His little brother instructed._

" _Sam, you've got to get out. Your hands, your—_

" _I know, Dean. So, just let go of me, so that I can get us out of here."_

_He shook his head. The water was frigid for him, but with Sam's history it would be so much worse and a hell of a lot more dangerous. He needed to get out._

_He needed to get out right fucking now._

" _Get out, Sam."_

_The younger boy proceeded to tread water as he shook his head._

" _I'm not going anywhere until I get your leg free. The longer we argue, the longer we are both stuck here. So, shut up already and let go of my arm." Sam argued._

_Dean glared at his little brother, before reluctantly relenting and releasing his grip._

" _Hold onto the ice." Sam ordered, patting the older boy's arm before sucking in a deep breath and disappearing under water._

_Dean clung to the edge of the frozen surface, and focussed on holding tight. The last thing Sam needed was to have to save his ass from drowning again. He felt slender fingers wrap around his left shin. He did his best to keep his legs still, as to not make things more difficult for the teen. The device entrapping his foot was shifting, but he couldn't tell if any progress was being made. He was having a difficult time keeping track of time, but after awhile he knew that Sam had been under too long. He could still feel fingers brushing against his jeans, but he knew the kid needed to take another breath. He shook his leg, pulling it from his brother's grasp, hoping Sam would take the hint. Luckily, he did. The teen popped up next to Dean, gasping for breath._

" _I almost got it." He sputtered._

" _What you almost did was fucking drown yourself." Dean accused, silently cursing his chattering teeth._

" _That's not possible, my body would have forced me to come back up for air when I needed it." Sam bickered._

" _Unless you were too damn cold to move." The older boy shot back._

_His little brother had the audacity to roll his eyes. "It's a lobster trap. It has some sort of weight on the end of it pulling it down to the bottom. The lead must have gotten caught in the ice somehow, which is how it was high enough for you to put your foot through it. But once you broke the ice you freed the lead and now-_

" _We don't really have time for a speech right now, kiddo. And I'm having a hard time following you. So, could you headline-news it for me?"_

" _Do you have your knife?" Sam asked, skipping ahead to the point._

" _Back pocket."_

_Sam nodded, giving his brother a tight reassuring smile before sucking in another lung full of air and vanishing beneath the surface once more._

_Dean released an angry string of curses as he uselessly clung to the ice. He felt Sam's fingers struggle to free the switchblade from his pocket and knew that the kid was fighting to get his hands to cooperate with him._

_The older boy was so cold. His shivering was endless and his insides were frozen. It felt like the ice had gotten into his veins and was being spread through his entire being, into every limb and organ. Even his brain was affected, it was sluggish and making it difficult for him to process things. What he had no trouble figuring out was that Sam had been spending far too much time submerged in the freezing water. Just as he was about to urge the teen back to the surface, the contraption weighing down his foot vanished, and his kid brother appeared at his side._

" _I got it." He wheezed._

" _Good. Now get out." Dean demanded._

" _I can't—_

" _You can. I'll help you. C'mere." He reached out and grabbed the boy's narrow shoulder and pulled him closer._

" _No, Dean. I'm going to help boost you out—_

" _You first."_

" _It has to be you."_

" _No! You have to get out, now." He insisted, tugging Sam toward him._

" _Dean, listen to me!"_

_The hunter stalled at the shout, one hand still gripping tightly to the thin teen and another holding onto the ice._

" _You have to go out first—_

" _No, you need—_

" _Listen, Dean! You have to go first and then help me out."_

" _Why don't you go fist and then help me?"_

_Sam was shaking his head before his brother finished speaking. "I can't. I won't be able to pull you up, not with my hands."_

_Fear slammed into Dean and shattered some of the ice that had frozen his insides._

" _Fuck, S-Sammy, you nee-need to g-get out o-of he-here." He stammered, watching his little brother shiver as intensely as he was._

" _Then let me help you."_

_Dean scowled. He didn't like this. He never went first. He was the big brother. He put Sam first. That was how it worked._

" _Dean. Please. I know you don't like this, but you've got to go first. That's the only way this is going to work."_

_He wanted to argue, he wanted to come up with a better plan, but he didn't have one. His mind was as lethargic as the rest of him._

" _Dean. I'll get us both out of here. Just trust me. Please."_

_Fuck._

_H had no choice now. The damn kid was begging him to trust him and if that wasn't enough, he used the 'p' word. Dean's was fucked._

" _What do you want me to do?" He stuttered out, his chattering teeth far beyond his control._

_Sam smiled, like his big brother had just done something great. Which was bullshit. What would have been great was if he had concocted a better plan that didn't involve him escaping the arctic water before his kid._

" _I'm going to boost you up, and then you'll need to climb onto the ice."_

" _It's going to break, Sammy."_

" _It won't as long as you use your body to army-crawl across it. Don't use your hands or create pressure points, keep your weight even across the surface." Sam explained, fighting to speak clearly through the aggressive tremors running through his body._

" _Then I'll pull you out." Dean declared._

_Sam nodded. "I'm going to push you up from underneath, that way you'll be able to get more of your body on the ice without putting too much weight on one area. I'll tap you on the knee and then on the count of three I'll boost you up."_

_Dean nodded, hating every moment of this, but submitting himself to what was necessary. He had to help Sam get out of the icy water, and if that meant allowing the teen to help him first, then that was what had to happen._

" _Dean? You, okay?"_

" _Yeah, let's get to it."_

" _Okay, get ready."_

_Dean watched the shaggy head vanish back beneath the water, fighting every instinct he had to keep from reaching down and pulling his boy back up. Instead, he turned fully back toward the ice and prepared to cautiously pull his body up onto the precarious surface._

_Dean felt Sam tap his knee in warning before gripping the bottom of his feet, his body between Dean's legs, the boney shoulders brushing his knees. On three Dean was boosted out of the water enough that he was able to get his arms and chest onto the ice. He wiggled as quickly as he dared across the frozen water, being careful not to place too much pressure on any specific area, but to spread his weight evenly - per Sammy's instructions. He heard and felt the ice cracking, but it remained intact as he slithered the distance on his stomach and slowly spun around to face the hole where he had been trapped._

_Where Sam was currently clinging to the edge, his skinny arms up on the ice as his slim body shook violently._

" _I'm right here, Sammy." Dean assured. He extended his arms, stretched out on his stomach, dispersing his weight the best that he could. The teen reached toward him, his hands a tense, discoloured, trembling mess. Dean distractedly wondered what happened to his gloves, as he clamped his fingers around Sam's forearms._

" _Ready?" It was less of a question and more of a warning, but he waited for his little brother to nod nonetheless._

_Once he did, Dean began to pull. He shimmied backwards as he dragged Sam out of the water._

" _Keep crawling." He rasped as he tugged the boy fully up onto the ice and continued to worm backwards across the lake, maintaining a hold on Sam's wrist as kid followed him in an army crawl._

_The ice groaned and cracked beneath them as they made their way across it, but it remained intact. It felt like hours had passed before Dean's feet brushed against solid ground. He nearly sobbed in relief, but instead he climbed onto his knees and hauled his little brother forward, off the lake, and into his arms._

" _I got you, Sammy." Dean vowed through perpetually chattering teeth. Sam shifted against him, and Dean thought for a moment he was going to pull away, but instead he pressed closer, melting into the larger frame. The older boy held on tight, doing his best to absorb each vicious shiver that ripped through his kid's thin frame._

" _I've got you, little brother."_

_The younger boy curled up against him and nuzzled his head into the crook of Dean's neck, his hands trapped between their chests, as he trembled from the cold._

" _What were you thinking? Jumping into that water." The hunter muttered, unsure of whether it was his shaking or Sam's that was making his voice tremble._

" _I saved your ass." The teen whispered against Dean's neck._

_A surprised laugh burst from his mouth, as he wrapped his stiff limbs around the slender body in his arms and tugged it impossibly closer._

" _You sure did, kiddo. You sure as hell did." He praised. A fond smile pulling at his lips despite their unfortunate situation._

_Bobby found them in that same position a short while later; thankfully, because neither of them could find the strength to move. With no delay or thought to the creature they had been intending to hunt, the hunter helped them back to his truck and rushed them back to his house where he warmed them up. Dean regained his lost body-heat much sooner than Sam, despite the fact that he had spent a longer period of time in the icy lake water. The young teen had shivered for days, but he avoided hypothermia and though his hands trembled for weeks, no additional damage had been done._

_They had spent New Year's Eve and the remainder of the week, camped out on the couch together. They were covered in blankets, surrounded by junk-food, with stacks of movies to watch, and all the pizza they could eat. They spent their holiday joking around and having a blast._

_They had no hunts to go out on, no training to do, no responsibilities, and no worries. They had been able to spend all their time just enjoying each other._

_Just being brothers._

_It had been perfect._

_And everything Dean ever wanted out of a holiday, or any day._

_\-------------------------------------------------------------------_

"You saved my ass that day, Sam." Dean surmised as the memory faded from his mind.

The younger man chewed his bottom lip.

"You weren't the reason I was in danger; my own stupidity was. And when I fell through that ice, you could have gone to find Bobby, you could have run back to the truck for supplies, but you didn't. You saved my ass. You jumped in that goddamn lake without a second thought of the danger to yourself. You did that for me, Sam. You risked your health, and your hands, and your life to save me."

Sam quirked a smile, glancing over at his brother.

"That wasn't the first time you did that, and it sure as hell wasn't the last. So, I don't want to hear anymore of this bullshit about how you don't take any risks or give anything up for me. You got that?"

His little brother thought for a moment longer, before nodding his head. "Okay." He agreed softly.

Satisfied, Dean relaxed back against the wall, closing his eyes and inwardly pleading for the pounding reverberating through his skull to ease off. Sam sat shivering next to him, his hands tucked up inside the sleeves of Dean's leather jacket.

"Why don't we burn her body?" He questioned, after a short period of silence.

Dean cracked his eyes open and followed the calculating gaze to the corpses stacked up in the center of the cellar.

"We could, if we knew which one it was. I checked when I was piling them, most of them don't have any identification on them. Two of them had ID and a couple others had phones that have long been dead, but that's about it. There are a few dudes, and then there are the two most recent teenagers that I could recognize from their pictures, but that still leaves almost a dozen bodies. She could be any of them." He elaborated in a low voice, having no desire to escalate the agony pulsing through his skull.

"We could burn them all." Sam suggested, his soft tone making it apparent he knew the pain Dean's head was in.

"I'm not thrilled at the idea of starting a fire when we have no way of escape."

"The floor is dirt and the walls are brick, it might not catch." Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, but the ceiling is wood, and if it goes up in flames it's going to come down on us. Besides, what's the point? It's not like getting rid of her will get us out of here."

"No, but it will keep her from getting Bobby, when he shows. If he shows."

"Well, unless you've got about a pound of salt in your pocket, there's not point in burning the bodies."

"I threw what I had at her when she brought him down here." Sam reported.

Dean nodded, because he had known as much. One look at his little brother showed him how worried the younger man was, not just for their sakes, but their surrogate uncle's as well."

"She might not grab him. She doesn't grab everybody that goes in the house." He suggested.

"She has been lately. She snatched those two teens earlier this week, and both of us."

Dean shouldn't have stalled.

But he did.

His mouth opened and closed for a second too long before he snapped it shut. A second was long enough for Sam to detect that something was up.

"Dean." He said, anger edging his voice as his squinty accusing eyes zeroed in on the older man.

"What?" Dean cringed at how defensive he sounded to his own ears. If Sam hadn't already figured out that something was up, that would have been enough to alert him.

"She did take you, didn't she?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Sam's piercing stare analyzed the freckled face. Dean did his best to maintain a neutral expression, but inside he knew that Sam would see right through it. His little brother had always been the only one who could see through any charade Dean enacted or any lie he told.

His kid knew him too well.

"What aren't you telling me?" Sam questioned, his tone deep and serious.

"It's nothing." He evaded, with no success.

"Tell me. Now."

Dean rolled his eyes at the John-Winchester-like order, but spoke up anyways; because he knew Sam just as well as Sam knew him, and he knew the stubborn brat wouldn't drop the matter until he received the truth.

"She may have offered me an out." He confessed with a shrug, like it was no big deal. It quite honestly wasn't to Dean, but Sam thought the opposite.

"What?" He bellowed.

Dean cringed at the volume of the exclamation. Sympathy trickled into the younger man's features, but it did not erase the lines of fury.

"What do you mean she offered you an out?" Sam inquired again, in a much softer tone.

Dean sent him an appreciative smile before sucking in a deep breath and giving the young hunter the demanded explanation. "She said I could leave, but when I wouldn't she gave me the option to go to you. That's what I chose." He declared with conviction, because he knew full-well that he had made the right decision, the only one he could live with.

Sam scowled. "So, instead of escaping, you just let her drag you down here?" He growled.

"It was more of a teleportation than a drag—

"Dean." Sam snapped, clearly not having any interest in the logistics of the matter.

"Yeah." He replied simply.

"Why the hell did you do that?" His brother was managing to keep his voice hushed, but only just. Dean knew that if his head had not been pounding, Sam would not be restraining himself in the least.

The kid was furious.

"Because I wasn't going to leave you." Dean stated matter-of-factly.

"You could have gone to get help." The youngest Winchester declared.

"Help for what? Finding her body? Cause it's down here, Sam." He said, gesturing over to the mound of bodies.

"You didn't know she would take you to her remains. You could have called Bobby and had him help you."

"The man is like five hours away. I wasn't going to leave you alone with the pyscho bitch for another minute, let alone hours. Get your head out of your ass." Dean tossed back.

"So, you thought it would be a better idea to be trapped with me?" Sam spat sarcastically.

"Well, if I had known you were going to be such shitty company, I might have given it a second thought." He grumbled.

"This isn't a fucking joke, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. The kid was stealing his lines again.

"What did you want me to do, Sam? Just take off? Go on a wild goose chase for the bitch's bones and leave you to rot?"

Sam's pinched expression didn't change as he glared.

Dean knew how he felt, really, he did. Sam wanted him to be safe. Dean knew exactly how it felt to want you brother to be safe. To want him to turn and run for safety, instead of risk his life to save yours, like you knew he was going to do. He knew how frustrating and terrifying it was when someone you loved threw themselves thoughtlessly into a life-threatening situation to rescue your sorry-backside.

Dean understood that.

But he also understood that you don't give a shit about your own security when your brother is in danger. He never gave a second thought to his own well-being when Sammy was on the line. And he knew that – no matter how much it scared him – his little brother felt the exact same way when the roles were reveres.

"Is that what you would have done?" He asked, not surprised when the sharp inquiry lit a fire in the hazel eyes.

"Of course not! You think I could do that? You think that I would just leave you here?"

The outrage had been expected, but the blatant hurt he could hear in his brother's broken voice and see in his wide eyes, had Dean feeing guilty for intentionally using those words to prompt a reaction.

"I know you wouldn't, Sammy." He admitted, his tone softening with his expression.

Sam twitched his head, likely thrown off by the rapidly altered demeanor.

"You wouldn't leave me alone in that lake, any more than I would leave you alone in this house. So, can we stop fighting about something so ridiculous?"

Comprehension dawned on the young face and his little brother slowly nodded his agreement. Sam released a soft sigh and rested his head back against the wall, his body shivering as he wrapped his arms around himself. Dean was tempted to close his eyes and give his aching skull a break, but his mind was nagging at him to say one more thing.

"Sam." He called softly, waiting for the taller man to turn his head in his direction, before continuing.

"That thing you said earlier, about how we're brothers and you would do anything for me."

Sam nodded in earnest, his hazel orbs oozing love and sincerity.

"I know that you would. Okay? I've always known that. I might not always _like_ it. But I have _always_ known." He admitted in all honesty.

Well, in almost all honesty. The truth was he didn't just not like it, sometimes the things that Sam was willing to do for him, fucking terrified him. He didn't want his little brother to ever have to give-up anything for him. Not his happiness, not his health, and definitely not his life. The thought of Sam ever sacrificing himself to save Dean, filled his heart with fear. The knowledge that there was nothing his kid wouldn't do for him, scared the shit out of the big brother. But that didn't mean that he didn't know it to be the truth.

And while that truth frightened him more than any supernatural nasty ever could, it also made him feel so fucking loved.

Sam's willingness to die for Dean, gave him more worth than he ever imagined he could possess.

"Good." The soft affirmation was packed with emotion as it floated off Sam's lips.

Dean found relief on the kid's expression and a glimmer of joy in the gaze that stared into his. The dimples appeared as the corners of Sam's mouth pulled up into a small smile.

Nothing had really changed. They were still trapped in the cellar with no way to escape. If anything, they were worse of now than when they arrived. Dean was suffering from new injuries, and Sam's were becoming more severe with each passing second.

No, their situation had not improved in the least. And yet, as he held his little brother's gaze, he felt peace settle inside of him, nesting into his soul. Because Sam and Dean, they were together. And as long as they had each other, nothing could touch them.

Not the supernatural. Not the cold. Not fear. Not a goddamn thing.

They had proved it before. And they would prove it again.

Every fucking day.

For the rest of their lives.


	14. Chapter 14

"Stop fucking squirming."

"I'm not squirming, I'm shivering."

"I'm not an idiot, Sam—

"Could'a fooled me."

"I know the difference between shivering and squirming and what your ass is doing right now is definitely squirming." Dean elaborated, ignoring his brother's muttered jab as he tried to still the thin frame shifting against his chest.

"It's numb." Sam grumbled as he finally settled, his shaggy head dropping back against Dean's collarbone as he released an irritated huff.

"Yeah, no shit, dude. Mine is too, but you don't see me doing the hokey-pokey."

"You couldn't if you wanted to, cause I'm smooshing you." Sam teased, pressing his back closer to the older boy's chest as if to prove his point.

"Ha! As if your skinny-ass could restrain me." Dean dismissed, knocking his knee playfully against his brother's uninjured leg.

"Whatever." The boney shoulders raised and fell in a shrug, which Dean could feel because his brother's long body was situated between the elder hunter's legs, his desperate attempt to ease his little brother's violent shivering – and the fact that the independent boy hadn't fought the seating arrangement in the least was all the proof Dean needed to know that it was necessary.

His kid was fucking freezing. Even Dean was chilled, but he wasn't shaking and shivering the way Sam was. The hours the two boys had been trapped in the damn cellar had been more than enough to do serious damage to Sam's hands. Dean had caught a glimpse of the discoloured appendages when he'd helped tuck them up against Sam's chest before securing both jackets around him. The brothers hadn't really discussed the frozen hands, because there wasn't much of a point. Dean could tell that the kid was in pain and knew that harm was likely being done to the previously frostbitten appendages, but he couldn't do shit about it. He couldn't rub warmth into anything when he didn't have any of his own to offer, and he could examine the discolouration and do his best to diagnose how bad it was getting all damn day long – but that wasn't going to fix anything.

No, the best game plan for Sam's hands was to keep them covered and hope like hell that would prevent the worst of the damage. Though, Dean knew that the only way Sam was going to be able to keep all of his fingers intact was if he could get the kid the fuck out of there.

And Dean was trying hard to figure out a plan to do just that.

"So, I've been thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself." Sam mumbled, though the older boy could practically hear the smirk.

"Hardy-har-har."

Sam released and honest-to-God giggle at the sarcastic response, which brought a goofy grin to Dean's face as he wrapped his arms just a little tighter around his kid's chest.

The younger man didn't fight the hold, but rather settled into it, sighing tiredly as he spoke. "Thinking about what?"

"About your idea."

"Mmm? What idea?" Sam wondered, his tone groggy.

Dean knew the cold and all the shivering, on top of the pain in both his hands and his leg were making it difficult for his little brother to remain alert, or even conscious – which was why the older boy was trying his best to maintain a steady stream of conversation.

"The one about lighting the bodies on fire."

"Thought you said that was too risky?"

"It might be, we'd just have to try and keep the fire from growing too high or too quickly."

"And how would we do that, exactly?" The younger hunter inquired skeptically.

"I'm still working out that bit." Dean admitted thoughtfully.

"Tha's'a pretty import'nt bit." Sam's speech was becoming more slurred, and Dean was trying desperately not to consider the implications of that.

"Thank you for your input, Sherlock, it's invaluable."

"Tha's what m'here for." The taller man quipped in reply, angling his head up to send his big brother a cheeky grin.

Dean rolled his eyes, his head still pounding too hard for him to shake it the way he was going to, but he couldn't keep the fond smirk off his face. He fidgeted a little, maintaining a hold on the frigid form in his arms as he tried to shift so the sore spots on his back weren't pressing so hard against the wall. He had wanted the pain at first, it had helped him stay awake, but after a few hours it was simply too much. His concussion had made things foggy and the dark and cold environment sure wasn't helping.

As if sensing that Dean's mind was beginning to drift, Sam spoke up.

"What would be th'point of startin' a fire?"

"Warmth."

Sam snickered, Dean giving his own smirk before he continued.

"Got a bit of salt we could sprinkle, spread it over the most decomposed corpses, it might be enough to put the bitch to rest." He added. He felt the shaggy head slide against his collarbone in a slow nod.

"Yeah. S'not gonna get us out o'here tho." Sam pointed out.

"Depends. How long do you think we've been in here?" Dean questioned, looking around the dark pit, although there was a dim, slightly supernatural glow about the place, there certainly wasn't any moon light or sun light filtering in that would help them figure out the time of day.

"Feels like a long time." Sam mumbled, groaning as a violent shiver shook his thin frame.

Dean frowned. "It has to have been at least four hours since I sent the text."

"Think he's comin?"

"Yeah, it's Bobby. Of course he is. It'd probably help him out if we could toast the spirit, and maybe the fire would help him find us."

Sam hummed a sound of understanding.

"I figure we give him five hours to haul-ass here and then like an extra thirty minutes for incidentals." Dean elaborated.

"Incidentals?" Sam asked, angling his head back to squint up at the older boy.

"Yeah, you know, in case there's traffic or he had to get gas or take a shit or something."

A dimple appeared as half of Sam's mouth twitched up ever-so-slightly. "Tha's very reasonable o'you."

Dean grinned and winked. "I'm a very reasonable man, Sammy."

The youngest Winchester made a noncommittal noise in his throat, before levelling his chin so his neck was no longer strained. "We gotta wait then." He concluded.

"Yup. It'll be about an hour and a half before we can start the party."

"Only you would call burnin' a bunch'a corpses a party." Sam snorted.

"What would you prefer? A barbeque? A cookout? A—

"Oh my gawd, Dean. Stop relating it to food." The lanky boy groaned.

Dean snickered, but did as was requested, not wanting to be the cause of the poor kid having to hurl his cookies again. "So, what should we do to pass the time?"

"Nap?" His little brother suggested, sounding damn near wistful.

"No sleeping, buddy. You know that. Not for either of us. I'm too concussed and you're too close to being fucking hypothermic."

Sam whined his disapproval, sounding just like he used to when he was a bitchy teenager.

"Suck it up, buttercup." Dean sing-songed.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean shifted, trying to take some of the pressure off his upper back, and Sam wiggled to accommodate the change of angle – both brothers settling a moment later.

"We could play eye-spy." Dean suggested.

"Yeah, cause that worked great th' las' time I had'a keep you conscious." Sam responded sarcastically.

The older man squinted down at the shaggy head, trying to think of what his little brother was referring to. Sam twisted to look up at Dean, obviously catching the confusion on the freckled face.

"You got your head cracked open in a bar fight? I had to drive you to the hospital."

Dean tried to concentrate, his pounding head was making it difficult – and in his defense, there were a lot of bar fights to sift through.

Sam huffed an annoyed sound as he began to fidget again. "I should have known that for you to remember, I'd have to make it about me." The comment was said in part complaint and part amusement as the younger man tugged his left hand free and held it out in front of his big brother.

Dean was about to snap at the moron for exposing his freezing appendage to the cold as he took in the fingers that were beginning to discolour – but was sidetracked by the scar that the kid was pointing out. It was a raised white line approximately two inches in length, starting from the base of the palm beneath the thumb and stretching toward the center.

The sight of the old injury brought the elusive memory to Dean's mind.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 _It wasn't that Dean hadn't been expecting a fight – hell, he was_ _**always** _ _expecting a fight. He just hadn't been expecting things to escalate quite so quickly._

_Dean knew the one guy at the table was getting pissed, he'd been pissed the last game and he'd loss far less money that time than he was losing now. The other three men at the table weren't impressed either, but there was only one that Dean was worried about – only one who seemed to be simmering, the explosion both unpredictable and inevitable. The ironic thing was, Dean wasn't even hustling – not really, no card up his sleeve, no pretending to be wasted; was it his fault if the old men at the table just assumed the guy a third their age would be able to beat their asses at a card game they'd been playing 'since before he was sucking on his mother's teet'? As they so elegantly put it._

_Dean had noticed the glares coming from handlebar-mustache when he'd call his first bluff and the expression had only grown more dangerous as the second game went on. Dean was hiding it, but he was beginning to feel a bit anxious. He certainly hadn't made any friends in the smoky joint, there were no women to charm and no one around to back him up. He couldn't throw the game because he was really fucking sick of mac & cheese, the brothers had it for the sixth night in a row yesterday and Dean had promised to buy the kid some real fucking food tonight. Besides, Dean couldn't dip-out and take-off because his ride wasn't due for another hour or so. He'd given his little brother use of the Impala because the dork had wanted to spend his Friday evening holed-up in the library doing schoolwork and while Sam had insisted he was fine if he was just dropped-off, Dean had demanded he take the car. He hated leaving the kid waiting for him (ever since that one time Sam was stuck waiting outside his big brother's high school and got picked on and hurt by a bunch of assholes, Dean felt anxious as hell ever leaving the younger boy waiting) and even though it was spring there was also a bite in the wind and he didn't want the teen's hands getting cold. Once those things started shaking, they took forever to stop and Sam didn't need to deal with that kind of frustration. He needed the cash and he didn't have a getaway vehicle until the dork was finished at the library, so Dean had to stick it out and do his best to tone down the cocky attitude and not further enrage the men at the table, handlebar-mustache in particular._

_Dean had kept his eyes glued to nothing but the cards for most of the remainder of the second game, not even bothering to work the table or check for tells the way he normally would. He just wanted to win his money and get the fuck out of there. He had decided he would walk towards the library, not wanting to call Sam and pull him away from the paper that had him stressed the fuck out all week long. The library closed at 11:00pm, Dean could wait until then, but not in this bar._

_He had been bracing for the fight to begin when he'd laid his winning hand out on the table. He had been sure to scoop up his winnings fast enough to get moving but not too fast that he looked as though he were in a rush. The moment you show weakness or nerves, that's when you're well and truly fucked._

_He felt the glares and heard the feral growl from handlebar-mustache as he pocketed the cash, but no words were spoken or moves were made. Dean stepped away from the table – expecting to hear demands that he return to play another round, give the asshats a chance to win their cash back. He heard nothing, so he pulled his collar up, shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and made his way out of the smoky bar. He released a sight of relief as he stepped out into the cool night air, satisfied the evening hadn't ended in a brawl – he knew how his kid brother hated it when he showed up with fresh bruises and blood on his knuckles and face, no matter how much cash he had wadded in his pockets._

_Dean made his way down the steps and across the parking lot, pointing his feet towards the direction of the library._

_The bastard hit him like a truck._

_Dean was slammed into the pavement, breath stolen from his lungs. He immediately began to fight back managing to shove the larger man off and flip their positions, but just as quickly as he landed a few hits, a couple more punches hit him before their positions were flipped once again._

_Dean's increasingly successful attempts to get the upper-hand were stalled when his hair was grabbed and his head was smashed viciously into the pavement; once, twice, and then a third time before Dean could coordinate himself enough to bring his knee up into his attacker's groin. He used the moment of surprise to push the weight off of him, he tried to roll away and get to his feet, but the world had gone fuzzy and there was a roaring in his ears – missing two of his senses caused Dean to desperately reach for his gun. His shaking fingers had barely grazed against the handle of the firearm tucked into the back of his jeans, when the young hunter was being crushed once again under weight he had just fought off._

_Even through the agony in his brain and his complete inability to focus, see, or hear, Dean already had a counter-attack in mind, but before he had the chance to execute it, he felt the cool blade of a knife pressed against his neck._

" _You think you can just take all my money and walk away?"_

_The furious words shouted in his face managed to find their way through the concussion-induced haze and pounding in his ears._

" _Won it fair n'square." Dean growled, wincing as he felt the additional pressure of the blade against the skin on his neck. He blinked rapidly, trying to get the world to shift back into focus as he tried to breathe with the crushing weight that had settled overtop of him._

" _Bullshit." The older man spat, showering the freckled face in droplets of saliva. "You fucking cheated. You're a fucking hustler, you little bitch."_

_Dean snarled and attempted to maneuver his way out of the vulnerable position, but his arms were clumsy and weak – he couldn't seem to get his limbs to cooperate, as the world around him continued to slide in and out of focus._

_Fuck, it was so frustrating. This wasn't a monster, it was just a fucking person, he should be able to handle some random asshole. He_ _**could** _ _handle some random asshole, if only the world wasn't bleary, if only his arms and legs would cooperate, and if only he could get his mind to bloody focus for one goddamn minute._

" _You're going to give me that money, or I'm going to slit your fucking throat."_

_The threat was punctuated by the knife pressing dangerously harder against Dean's skin._

_His scrambled mind was hindering his decision-making process. He couldn't figure out whether to fight of flee or maim or kill or just hand over the damn cash – he couldn't choose a course of action no more than he had the coordination to follow through with it. But before Dean had to worry too much about it, the knife against his throat and the weight on his chest vanished like they had never been there to begin with._

" _Get the fuck away from my brother!"_

_That was a voice Dean would always recognize, regardless of what ruined sate of mind he was in._

" _Sammy?" He slurred, trying to sit up, groaning when his head refused to raise so much as two inches off the ground._

_He squinted into the dark and tried to pour all his energy into focussing on what was happening. He could hear a scuffle, the sound of flesh hitting flesh – various grunts and gasps with the occasional hiss thrown in. There was a fight, and his kid brother was involved._

_Dean bit back a cry as he forced himself to sit up, his arms shaking so aggressively that they gave-out and the hunter found himself flopped over on his side._

" _Fuck." He cursed, squinting out at the parking lot of the bar, just able to make out a skinny pair of legs as well as a thicker pair moving rapidly in and out of his line of sight. He could hear voices, he knew one belonged to Sam, which meant that the other was coming from handlebar-mustache. He struggled to make out the words though, they were too far away – or at least they seemed to be._

" _Sammy." He called out, crawling towards the noise before the movement sent his head spinning and forced him to be still for a moment. Dean grimaced as he ground his forehead into the pavement, hoping to make the world stop dancing around._

" _Get the fuck out of here – and stay the hell away from my brother, or next time you won't be able to walk away!"_

_The voice was vicious, each word spoken in a snarl dripping with malice, and yet it was unmistakably Sam. Dean had never heard such a tone come out of his little brother before, and it startled him enough that he forced his head up off the gravel._

_Bad idea._

_The agony and dizziness caused Dean's stomach to lurch and he promptly threw-up._

_The young man startled at the feeling of a hand on his back, before quickly recognizing the gentle touch as belonging to his little brother._

" _Sammy?" He gasped out between heaves._

" _I'm right here, Dean. I'm right here."_

_The injured boy reached back blinding, searching until his fingers found what had to have been Sam's jacket, and grabbed hold. Dean's body shook as he continued to vomit, but he refused to let go of Sam, feeling so fucking exposed and doing the little he could to keep his kid safe._

" _Y'kay?" He asked as he spat out residual stomach acid lingering in his mouth._

" _I'm fine. You're the one who got your head cracked open." Sam sighed. Dean hissed as deft fingers found the sore spot when they wandered through his head. "Damnit." Sam cursed softly under his breath._

_Dean continued to breathe heavily through his mouth, not quite sure yet if his body was finished purging its stomach of all contents. He felt Sam shift behind him, could sense the younger man moving to stand from the squat he had been in, and used his hold on the teen's shirt to pull him back down to the ground._

" _Dean, what the hell?"_

" _S'not safe." He mumbled before spewing another mouthful of bile._

" _It is. That asshole is gone and I'm fine. It's safe."_

_Dean was too busy hurling to give a response, just shaking his head instead as his hold kept Sam on the ground behind him even as the hunter proceeded to toss his cookies._

" _I need to go grab you some water." Sam explained, tugging on Dean's wrist, trying to get him to let go._

_The older boy wasn't having it, he shook his head, gagging as the movement caused the pain to escalate, all the while white-knuckling his brother's shirt. He didn't have the strength to protect Sam properly – hell, Dean couldn't even seem to stay up on his knees let alone climb to his feet, so he had to keep the kid down where he was, behind him. It was the only method of protection Dean could execute in his current condition and he wasn't about to give it up._

_Sam tried to squirm away another couple times, but even in his weakened nauseous state, Dean's grip was unrelenting._

" _Alright, fine. If you won't let me go, you have to come with me."_

_The thought of moving was not something Dean wanted to ponder for even a minute, his head was still spinning and he hadn't even made it off his ass yet. But where Sam went, Dean would follow._

" _Kay." He muttered, running his jacket sleeve over his mouth as he shifted away from the vomit pooled on the pavement._

_He groaned as Sam helped him off the ground, finally releasing the front of the kid's shirt in favour for draping his arm across the narrow shoulders. He was thankful as fuck that Sam didn't rush him along the way their father would, he just stood still and gave Dean a moment to breathe before charging ahead. The older boy closed his eyes, tired of watching the world slide in and out of focus, and tried to breathe slow and study, swallowing convulsively to keep the nausea at bay. His head felt like a bowling ball wobbling on his neck, the pain making it impossible to hold up any longer. He wasn't able to withhold a groan as he dropped his forehead onto his little brother's shoulder._

_Sam had one hand wrapped around his waist, gripping his belt to keep him on his feet, and the other one had hold of Dean's wrist to keep the older boy's arm in place around Sam's shoulders. Dean's legs shook and his world kept spinning, but with Sam's support he was able to stand. He felt the tickle of shaggy hair against his nose as the teen leaned in close._

" _You okay to move?"_

_Dean couldn't help twitch a smile at the softly-spoken inquiry._

" _Yeah." He croaked, unable to put any additional volume into the response – unsure if his head would explode._

_Sam huffed his disagreement, but helped slowly guide the older boy across the parking lot, to the Impala that had been haphazardly stopped in the middle of it– the driver's side door still wide open, headlights still on, and keys left in the ignition. Normally Dean would lecture his kid about leaving their most prized position in such an accessible state – their entire life was in that car, if it ever got stolen…well they would have to deal with more than just Dean's heartbreak; but then he thought of what his own response would be if he pulled up and saw his brother being held at knifepoint, and all criticism vanished._

" _C'mon, Dean, lets get you in the car." Sam prompted softly._

_The hunter frowned, realizing they had arrived at the passenger's side of the vehicle. He grunted his disapproval, but reluctantly allowed the teenager to unload him down into the seat. He settled into place, resting the side of his head against upholstered backrest._

_Dean most have zoned-out or dozed-off, because he startled at the feel of knuckles grinding against his sternum._

" _The fuck, Sam?" He grumbled._

" _You need to stay awake."_

_Dean was blinking rapidly to bring the world back into focus, but that didn't distract him from the edge of panic he could hear in his kid's voice._

" _Thought I was." Dean admitted, stretching out a shaky head to clumsily pat his little brother's chest – his severely concussed attempt at providing comfort. "Sorry, Sammy."_

" _It's fine, just…just stay awake."_

_Dean could tell his brother was doing his best to give an order, his authoritative voice had been activated, but the older boy was able to hear the pleading tone hidden beneath._

" _K, Sammy." He slurred, making to nod but then thinking better of it._

_The teenager gave him a squinted stare that Dean was too tired to interpret, so he attempted a reassuring smile, which did nothing but enlist a huff out of Sam._

" _Here, rinse and spit – and then drink." The kid instructed, uncapping a bottle of water and bringing it towards Dean's face._

" _I can hold it." The hunter insisted. Sam looked unsure, but allowed Dean to grasp the beverage. He was relieved that his shaking had eased a bit and he was able to hold the bottle without incident. He rinsed the lingering bile from his mouth and spat it out onto the gravel, Sam's bracing hands being the only thing that kept him from tumbling right out of the car. Dean collapsed back in his seat, panting and wiping his mouth._

" _Take a couple sips." Sam directed before he moved away, the sound of the truck opening and closing could be heard as Dean did as he was told – like a good little trooper. He set the bottle of water aside and rested his head against the side of the car. His skull was pounding and every other breath sent agony slicing through his brain._

_He hadn't permitted the world to fade-away, but it had nonetheless._

_Dean cried out as pain exploded in the back of his noggin. "Fucking hell." He cursed, trying to figure out what was going, and swatting at the pressure against his head, what he deemed to be the source of his agony._

" _You said you'd stay awake." The accusation was harsh and the touch was firm, and Dean would have fought both, if his gaze hadn't been able to focus enough that it caught sight of the fear shining through those big hazel eyes._

" _Didn't mean to." He mutterd. "I tried."_

" _Well, try harder."_

_Dean frowned at the snappy response. It was something John would do, give impossible orders and criticize weaknesses that were out of his sons' control. But there wouldn't have been any desperation in his father's tone, and yet Sam's voice was drenched in it._

_He was about to apologize once again, when his kid brother beat him to it._

" _I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean – I just…just please try to stay awake, okay?" Sam pleaded softly, his puppy dog eyes wide and worried, his face close as he was crouched down next to the older boy._

" _Kay' kiddo." Dean wasn't going to make promises he didn't have the power to keep, but he tried his best to proved Sam with some level of assurance, reaching up and sliding his hand onto the back of the teen's neck, the shaggy hair brushing against his knuckles as he squeezed gently._

_Sam gave the older boy a calculating look before briskly nodding his head, he took Dean's hand off his neck and moved it to the fabric balled-up and pressed against the injury on the back of the hunter's head._

" _Hold that there." He instructed, waiting until Dean did as he was asked before stooping down to pick the hunter's legs up off the pavement and tuck them into the footwell. The door was closed as softly as possible, and it still sent a wave of pain through Dean's skull._

" _Fuck." He cursed, leaning back and doing his best to keep, what he was pretty sure was an old shirt, pressed against the sore spot on his head. He forced his eyes open wider as they threatened to drift closed. He may have not made a promise, but he would try his best to stay conscious as long as his body would allow him. He forced his gaze to the left and watched Sam drop into the car, shutting his own door with an amount of care that made it clear he was aware the agony his big brother was experiencing._

" _Stay awake." The teen repeated as he put the Impala in drive and steered it out of the parking lot._

" _M'wake."_

" _Good. Stay that way. Hospital is about twenty minutes out."_

" _Tha's a long time." Dean slurred, staring out at the dark street they were racing down._

" _It's like one episode of Scooby-Doo, you can do it."_

_Dean snorted. Fuck, his head felt like it'd been blasted wide open and his brain was charred remains trying to leak out. He still couldn't get his eyes to focus for more than a couple seconds before everything faded the fuck out again. The edges of his vision went dark every now and then, he could literally feel unconsciousness pulling him under – tugging at his consciousness as his body felt weighted and oddly disconnected, like he had no power over it._

" _Hey! Dean!"_

_He startled slightly at the shout and grimaced at the way it reverberated through his skull. "Shit, Sam. Shut up, m'right here."_

" _You weren't answering me." The teen defended, even as he substantially lowered the volume of his voice._

" _Didn't hear ya."_

" _I was asking what happened. How'd you end up almost getting decapitated?"_

_Dean chortled at his brother's choice of words. "Knife wasn't that big."_

" _Not the point, Dean."_

_The kid sounded so damn parental. It was funny. It was also depressing as hell. Because Sam was way too bloody young to be sounding like that. He was a teenager. Just a kid._

" _Guy didn't like losing." He surmised._

_Sam nodded. "is that why you were taking off early?"_

_Dean frowned, using the seat to press the cloth against his wound as his hand no longer wanted to properly function. Traitor. He wondered if this was how Sam felt when his hands would go numb or stiff or overall uncooperative. Like his own limbs were betraying him. His own body was working against him. Like he was helpless and defenseless and altogether powerless. It was a terrible fucking feeling._

" _Dean?"_

_The older boy responding to the prompting, rolling his heavy hurting head in Sam's direction as he tried to remember what he had last been asked. Oh yeah, leaving early._

" _Yeah. Asshats were gettin' pissed. So I was leavin'."_

" _You should have called me, I would have come to get you."_

" _You did." Dean pointed out, squinting over at the skinny blur and trying to figure out what the kid was going on about._

" _Only because I finished early. I was going to hang out in the parking lot until you were done, I didn't want you to have to walk to the library. If you'd called me before you left, I would have come earlier, before that jackass attacked you."_

_Dean tried to track all of the words, but there were so many of them. He did manage to catch the last sentence. "Didn't wanna int'rupt your studyin'. 'sides, you still got there in time." He reassured, managing to lift one of his arms and drop it on one of those boney legs – he tried to pat it but his body didn't cooperate so he just left it where it was. He attempted to get a glance at Sam's face, to see if he had helped at all in easing the teen's misplaced guilt, but the world began to fade once more and his eyelids dipped closed._

" _Hey! Come on, Dean. Stay awake."_

_Damn pest, refusing to give him a moment's rest. He pried his eyes open and stared blearily at his little brother._

" _Eye-spy something yellow."_

_Dean squinted, confused._

" _Come on. You need to stay awake. Play the game."_

_Dean would have rolled his eyes if he didn't think it would turn his stomach inside-out, again. Eye-spy in the dark would probably just put him to sleep. It was a stupid idea, and he was about to tell the kid as much._

" _Please, De."_

_Well, fuck._

" _Street light?" He mumbled._

" _Nope."_

" _Stars?"_

_Sam snorted. "Nope. Guess again."_

_Dean glanced around as much as he could without lifting his head, catching a glimpse of yellow on the dash. "Speedin' ticket?"_

" _Ding-ding-ding." Sam sounded off. "From Arizona like three months ago – one of many."_

_Dean smirked._

" _Your turn."_

_The older hunter sighed, tempted to give in to unconsciousness just so he wouldn't have to play the stupid game anymore, but knowing how much that would terrify his little brother. He allowed his blurry gaze to wander, not spotting anything of significance until they drove under another streetlight. He frowned at what he saw._

" _I spy somethin' red."_

" _Stop sign?"_

" _No." Dean replied, dragging his body across the seat, closer to Sam, trying to inspect the site of his concern._

" _The Kit-Kat wrapper that's still on the floor because your lazy ass couldn't manage to reach all the way over to the garbage."_

_Normally, Dean would take the bait and the bickering would begin, but not now. He forced he tried to force his head up off the backrest, but only managed to lift it an inch before it dropped back down again. The interior was illuminated briefly as the car moved beneath the next streetlight._

_The steering wheel was covered in red, dark red liquid that was dripping off of it. Panic shot through the hunter, and he forced his hand up off Sam's leg and onto his arm._

" _What—_

" _Red, Sam. Red. On the wheel. It's blood." He croaked out, tugging insistently at the kid's sleeve._

" _It's yours, Dean. Your head is bleeding, I got it on my hands. We'll be at the hospital in ten. It's going to be okay."_

_Dean hadn't known he was bleeding, and yeah, maybe Sam got some of if on his hands. But not that much. There was no way._

" _Show me your hands." He ordered, his voice raspy but demanding as he pulled at Sam's arm._

" _Dean, I told you—_

" _Now, Sam!" He snapped, his concern momentarily clearing the fog in his head, but the pain only seemed to be escalating._

" _Okay! Relax." Sam relented. He presented his left one first, palm up as his right stayed on the wheel._

_Dean pulled the appendage closer to him - still unable to hold his own head up - and inspected it. There was blood, but it was only smeared across some of the fingers, certainly not enough to be painting the steering wheel. Dean released the hand and made grabby motions for the other one until Sam acquiesced._

_The teen kept his eyes on the road as he placed his left hand back on the wheel and held the right one out in front of his brother. Even in the dim light, Dean could spot the dark liquid glistening over the pale skin. There was blood smeared on the fingers, but most of it seemed to be covering the bottom of Sam's palm. Dean snagged the thin wrist to bring the appendage closer, frowning at the slick feeling of the blood he felt there. The next streetlight they drove beneath was enough to illuminate the source of the coloured liquid. There was a laceration on Sam's palm. It wasn't particularly long, not more than a couple of inches, but it was deep. Too deep._

_The knife. It had to have been the knife. The cut was perfectly straight and the skin around the injury – besides being coated in blood – was completely unblemished._

" _What the fuck, Sam? Why didn't you tell me that bastard fucking sliced you?" Dean snapped, his tone hushed but vicious as he glared over at his little brother._

_Sam glanced over his shoulder and had the audacity to look affronted. "Because I didn't. What the hell are you talking about? Fuck, are you seeing shit, Dean?" Sam asked, an edge of panic in his voice._

_Dean huffed, because though he probably got his bell rung hard enough to be seeing shit, the warm sticky fluid now covering his fingers ensured him that this was not a delusion. Unfortunately. He took the wad of fabric from where it was wedged between his head and the backrest, and pressed it roughly into Sam's right palm. The teenager didn't react at all, no hiss or curse, hell, his fingers didn't even flinch._

" _You're tellin' me you can't feel that?" Dean asked, closing his eyes a moment as agony rippled through his head._

" _Feel what?" Sam wondered, sounding honestly confused as he pulled his hand away. Dean tried to maintain his hold, but his sluggish reaction didn't allow for that._

_He opened his eyes and watched the teenager's face as the make-shift bandage fell away and the wound was revealed. Sam's eyes widened in surprise and as he glanced back out at the road, he curled his fingers on his right hand and used them to dig into the injury._

" _Fuckin' hell, Sammy. Don't do that." Dean demanded, clumsily slapping forward and knocking against his brother's forearm. "You're gonna make it worse."_

_Sam looked down at his palm, his expression curious now, as he obediently stopped pressing into the cut. The shaggy head abruptly shook back and forth and both hands were returned to the wheel, after Sam had tossed Dean the bloodied, balled-up shirt._

" _Put pressure on your head." The driver instructed._

" _But your hand—_

" _We'll deal with it when we get to the hospital. It's fine. Just need some stiches probably."_

_Dean wanted to argue but he was having too hard a time tracking his own thoughts let alone Sam's words._

" _We'll be fine. As long as you stay awake, we'll be fine."_

_It sounded simple enough. But it wasn't, not really._

_Dean was losing his battle to stay awake. His veins had been filled with lead and the pain in his head thudded with each beat of his heart. No amount of blinking would clear his vision for even a moment, the fog was everywhere and the black edges were encroaching all too rapidly. He had been fighting it for so long, but knew his time was running out._

_Dean desperately didn't want to leave. Sam was hurt and he was scared, and Dean had dedicated his entire fucking life to preventing his kid from having to feel either of those things. He wanted to stay. But the right to choose had been stolen away from him. And oh how he loathed the fates for such an injustice._

" _M' sorry, Sammy." He slurred as his world went black._

_When Dean next opened his eyes, he was greeted with the blinding white colour that seemed to only ever be found in sterile hospital rooms. The agony he could remember searing through his brain at last consciousness had been muted to a dull thud of discomfort. He could hear the faint sounds of bustling movements that sounded as though they were coming from the other side of the wall, and soft sounds of various machines played as white noise in the room. Dean rolled his head against the pillow, able to feel the extra padding of a bandage against the back of his noggin as he moved. He found what he was looking for when he looked to his left._

_His kid was seated in a chair pulled up close to the bed. The slim frame was slumped over, the shaggy head resting on the mattress up against Dean's hip._

_Dean quirked a smile, combing the long brown bangs back so he could get a view of his little brother's face. Sammy looked tired, the shadows evident beneath his eyes even as he slept, and there was a crease on his forehead, the one that always appeared when he was worried; but other than that, the boy appeared unarmed. Sam had one hand cushioning his head and the other was resting curled against Dean's ribs._

_It wasn't until Dean caught sight of the bandage wrapped around Sam's right hand, that he remembered what had happened. The seedy bar, the poker games, and the attack in the parking lot all came back to him. Everything that happened after that was scattered and fuzzy, but he could recall quite clearly having spotted the laceration across Sam's palm._

_His kid had got fucking sliced with a knife trying to protect Dean from that violent asshat._

_Dean gently took hold of the wounded hand, turning it over to take a look. He could make out a line of dark stitching beneath the layers of gauze, but the rest of the appendage appeared clear and free of any further damage or infection._

" _It was nerve damage."_

_Dean's eyes flew up at the remark, his heart rate picking up as he stared at his sleepy little brother. "What?"_

" _That's why I couldn't feel it when it got sliced. I guess there's a patch of damaged nerves at the base of my palm."_

_Dean frowned, looking back down at the hand cradled in his grasp, tracing a finger around the injury._

" _I can feel most of it. The doctor said that's why I probably never noticed it before, because it's only a small cluster and it's not up into any of my fingers where I would notice if I had no feeling." Sam explained, using his good hand to knuckle the sleep from his eyes as he sat up a bit, still staying close._

" _The frostbite?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer._

_Sam nodded. "Doc couldn't think of any other reason for it."_

_Dean mirrored the nod, because neither could he. The professionals who had treated Sam's frostbitten hands years ago had been thoroughly shocked that there had been no nerve damage. Evidently, they had just missed it._

" _It's not a big deal, Dean. I never noticed, so it obviously doesn't affect the function of my hands or anything."_

_Dean nodded along, because the hopeful look on Sam's face was telling him he needed to. The kid also had a point, all the other symptoms: the pain, the stiffness, the numbness in his fingers, were a lot more worrisome than the damaged nerves hidden in his palm. But it was still unsettling._

_It was more damage that should have been prevented._

_Further affects of an injury that never should have been._

_Additional evidence of Sam's suffering and Dean's failure._

_Dean held his brother's fingers in a loose grip as his eyes drooped closed, before he forced them open again. He was so fucking tired but he needed to keep Sammy nearby. He had failed to protect his kid one too many times, he wouldn't be doing it again. Ever._

_He felt a gentle weight rest against his chest, over his heart, and rub comfortingly back and forth._

" _You can go to sleep now, De. It's okay." Sam vowed with a whisper, the fingers of his injured hand curling over Dean's. "I'll be right here."_

_It was the last promise that allowed Dean to release a sigh of relief, and enable him to stop fighting the unconsciousness he had railed against so viciously before._

_Sammy would stay._

_Dean would do better; he would do everything and anything to keep his kid by his side._

_Everything would be okay, as long as Sam was with him._

_That would always and forever be the law of Dean's life._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Yeah, I guess eye-spy in the dark doesn't have the best success rate." Dean admitted.

"It would seem not." Sam snorted in reply, tucking his scarred hand back into his coat, holding it against his chest.

The younger man shivered and Dean held him close, praying that time would pass faster. He couldn't bear to just sit and wait for much longer, not when more damage was being done to his little brother with each moment that passed by.

One hour and thirty minutes, that was all Dean was willing to wait before putting his insane plan into action. Light the bodies, starting a fire in a small confined space, it was risky as hell, but it was the only plan of actions they could concoct and it was better than nothing. It was a chance, but there was hope it could work. And sometimes all the world gave the Winchester was a little bit of hope. Sometimes just an anorexic slice of it – but they always made do.

The fire could kill the homicidal spirit and it could alert Bobby to the brothers' whereabouts.

There was a chance.

But they had to stay awake and wait just a little bit longer.

"I'd recommend karaoke, but it'd probably just put you to sleep." Dean mentioned.

"Probably." Sam agreed with a nod, his breath catching midway through the word as his body flinched and what had to be pain.

"What hurts worse, your hands or your leg?" Dean asked.

"Leg. Can't much feel my hands anymore."

Dean swallowed at the honest response, trying to swallow his concern – as if that had ever been something he was capable of.

"Your back okay? I can move if—

"I'm fine, Sammy. Don't go moving anywhere." Dean declared, tightening his arms around the frame against his chest to further discourage any movement.

"You needa stay 'wake. You've had too many fuckin' concussions." The kid slurred between shivers.

"Well then you best thing of something we can do to stay awake."

"Not eye-spy."

"No, not eye-spy. Something else."

"Ummm, we could recite the pres'dents in order of most accomplished."

"That'll send me straight into a comma."

"We could recite all your exes, that'll take 'least an hour."

"You're an idiot."

Sam chuckled in response.

"How about we list Metallica's entire repertoire of songs alphabetically." Dean suggested.

"Pfft. Then I'll be the one in a coma."

Dean smirked, his head resting back against the wall, as Sam's head nestled against his collarbone. "How about you tell me some stories about Stanford?"

The long frame stiffened at the mention of the school. Dean clenched his jaw, hoping he hadn't fucked up, hoping his brother wasn't about to lock himself away in that big head of his, the way he tended to do when he was hurting.

"Doesn't have to be everything, it's fine whatever you…you only have to tell me the things you want to." Dean clarified. He wasn't trying to pry and he had no desire to open old wounds, but he was so desperate to hear at least a little bit about the life his kid brother had lived during their years apart.

"Like what?" Sam asked, the hesitance clear, but some of the tension had blead form the long limbs.

"I don't know. What kind of shit you got up to when you weren't knee-deep in homework. Or what your favourite courses were. Or what weird-ass sort of professors you had to put up with. Anything you don't mind talking about." Dean shrugged. He'd love the full picture of everything that happened while Sam was away, but he would settle for glimpses, snippets of what it had been like in Sam's world at Stanford.

There was a long silence, and Dean was a handful of seconds from telling the kid to forget it, and saying that it was okay if he wasn't ready, when Sam spoke up.

"Okay." He rasped.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but only if you do the same. A story for a story."

Dean squinted. "Okay, but I wasn't at school, kiddo."

"I know. But you were still livin' your life. I want to know what kind of shit you got up to when you weren't knee-deep in huntin'. Or any crazy assholes you had t' deal with. Or any interesting hunts you went on. Anything you don't mind talkin' 'bout."

Even through his slurs and shivers, Sam still sounded so damn genuine.

"I wanna know what I missed." The younger boy added softly.

And Dean knew that feeling all too well.

"Okay, Sammy. A story for a story. You start."

The brothers sat huddled up in the cold, swapping tales from the few years they had been absent from one another's lives. They drifted towards the lighter brighter parts, neither wanting to dredge up old wounds and pain. There were of course still glimpses of loneliness in each story, because regardless of how good a time was being had – each brother had always felt a powerful absence to which there was no remedy but the presence of the missing piece. They didn't speak of any of that though, and they didn't need to. It was something they had both understood and accepted for years. Instead, they focused on the good.

They each told the other about events they knew their brother would find entertaining or amusing.

Sam spoke about a professor he had who made endless references to Star Wars and froze up anytime he had to interact with a female in the class.

Dean told of the time he was squatting in a house when the family returned home, and had to spend the night hidden in a closet while the couple fought over whether to make dip with medium or mild salsa.

They were stories of no real significance. But they were moments, moments of the lives they had lead while apart. Glimpses into the people they had been when the one who had so often defined them was so far away. They were enlightening snippets of two lives that had been very different when the brothers were apart than they had been when they were together, and reassuring pieces of two boys who – at their core – had stayed very much the same.

Each story, be it humorous or adventurous or simply absurd, always ended on the same note. Whether it was spoken or hidden in a tone or slipped into a sigh, it was always the same message: They were relieved to be together again. Because some truths never changed, no matter the time or the distance, no matter how substantial or inconsequential the circumstance. There were some things that would forever be constant.

And the brother's being better together?

That was one of them.

* * *

 **Note:** For everyone whining about how I was being dishonest by claiming I was going to finish all of my multi-chap fics: I wasn't lying, I don't lie at all, actually. I'm going to finish all of my fics, but it might not be on your schedule. Because I have a life that often gets in the way and a laptop that doesn't work. I have responsibilities and spend a lot of time working at jobs that actually pay so that I can make rent; and yeah on occasion I am going to write some other stories that might be from a different fandom. And even when I find the time, I may on occasion be too stressed to spend a lot of time inside my head (which is where I have to be in order to write anything decent). It's going to happen. If you have an issue with that, you can suck my dick.

For everyone else: Thanks for reading! I'd love a review/comment, it's nice to know what everyone thought of the chapter. - Sam.


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